


The Damnedest Thing

by Hollandoodle



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Apartment Living, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, GoT, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pregnancy, modern a/u, sansan, single mom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2019-10-02 13:01:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 41
Words: 110,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17264705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hollandoodle/pseuds/Hollandoodle
Summary: Sansa is fresh out of a relationship with The Blonde Douchebag, and Sandor is the reclusive tenant who doesn't show up to welcome her to the building.Story follows them through nearly a year of new experiences, drama, wars of words, and passion!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Happy New Year! I've decided to post this new Sansan and hope you guys like it as much as you've liked my previous works. I must admit, I really, really like Sansa and Sandor in this one. 
> 
> But then, don't I always say that?
> 
> Please enjoy this fic as we follow Sansa and Sandor on their journeys to a whole new life <3

“I don’t know how to thank you, Jaime.” Sansa looked upon the golden lion, feeling an oddly detached affection for the older man. She wrapped her arms around her middle, standing inside the small apartment that was to be her home.

Jaime turned to her, blonde hair unfashionably long falling over the tops of his ears. 

“Don’t mention it, really, Sansa.” He walked back over to her from where he’d been looking through the living room window out onto the front lawn. He put a hand on her shoulder, though it felt the same as if it were Robb’s hand--brotherly. Jaime looked down at her, that familiar, good-natured twinkle in his eye. “You’re carrying my niece. We’re family now, whether you like it or not.” 

“Or your nephew,” she countered, though her response was weak. She really wasn’t in the mood to banter with him, despite having done it countless times before at Lannister family dinners. 

"Gods, I hope not," was Jaime's reply. That caught her attention. He saw, and explained, "If this family should produce one more egotistical, self-centered little shit of a man, I'll shoot myself."

"Oh, Jaime," said Sansa, resignedly. "You're not egotistical." Then she raised an eyebrow, allowing a single side of her mouth to quirk up.

It made Jaime smile, and he chuckled into the empty room. 

"Ah, Sansa. What would we do without you?" But it wasn't really a question so much as a statement, letting her know just how much value he placed on her as a new member of their pride, even if that connection was only held together by the new life inside her.

He left soon after, verifying that her first month's rent was free and to not worry about utilities, that he would take care of them. It was a perk, he explained, of being a landlord.

He made sure to add that if she needed anything, to call either him or Tyrion. "Don't bother with Cersei or Joffrey," he'd said. "They're useless pricks. But then, you know this already." Then with a humorous glint in his eye, he was gone, leaving her with an empty apartment and a few boxes to unpack.

It took her all of an hour to unpack her things, the hardest decision being how to organize her clothing in her closet. By color? By season? By type? In the end she’d gone by type, only because after organizing by type she could then subcategorize them by color and season. She wasn’t normally the type to be so anal about something as simple as organizing a closet, but there simply wasn’t anything else to do.

She didn’t have many belongings. Most of what she had owned in the recent past had been bought with Lannister money, and she wanted to distance herself from that. When it had come down to giving it up and signing Cersei’s parental rights agreement, or splitting custody with Joffrey and keeping her things, it had been a no-brainer.

This way, she got to start fresh and with no association with the Lannister family.

Well, at least not with the  _ crazy _ side of the Lannister family. She had inherited two funny and somehow affectionate uncles in Tyrion and Jaime, and was thankful for their assistance in finding somewhere to live.

Tyrion had even supplied her with very nice furniture that had come out of one of his rental properties--a couch, TV stand with TV, and a desk and a chair. Jaime went so far as to purchase a mattress for her, though she drew the line when he also informed her a box spring, bed frame, and headboard set would come with it.  _ No, just the mattress for now _ , she’d said.

She and Jaime hadn’t run into anyone when offloading her few boxes from the company truck he drove, so she didn’t know any of her neighbors yet. But Jaime assured her they were all friendly, and had somehow, at one point or another, been involved with the Lannisters or someone who knew them.

That was not to say, he assured her, that they would be anything like Cersei or Joffrey. Most of them were ex-employees who had earned their keep. Others were distant family friends, or people who Tyrion, or Jaime, had somehow learned needed a place to stay. It was quite the small community, in this little eight-plex, and he insisted she was going to enjoy living there.

There were four apartments set in a wide rectangle with a common entrance in the center of the front wall; Sansa’s apartment was on the bottom floor, in the front of the building. It was a locked building, accessible only with a key card, and all the apartments, top and bottom floor, had individual doors inside the building.

She had liked it from the first moment she set eyes on it.

There was a large fenced yard out front already sporting a couple kids’ bikes and some toys. The building itself looked newer, or at least well-maintained. Her apartment was small, a one-bedroom, but comfortable with a good-sized living room and ample space in the bedroom to fit a crib and a a king sized mattress, should she ever feel the need for one.

She stood in the doorway of that bedroom now, her mind wandering to a time in the not-so-distant future when she would be sharing it with another human being--her baby. 

It was easier now to think about it as a person, and easier to think about it not as a Lannister baby, but as hers. Sure, it might have blonde hair and light eyes, just like Joffrey, but it wouldn’t  _ be _ Joffrey, and that’s what mattered.

This baby wouldn’t grow up to be an abusive, aggressive, misogynistic asshole, for starters.

No, if this baby was a boy he was going to be kind, humble, even gallant. She would make sure of it. She would never treat her child the way Cersei treated her children--as though he could do no wrong. The woman had coddled Joffrey and allowed him to get away with the most atrocious behavior.

Sansa was going to be a better mother than that. She was going to be like  _ her _ mother--gentle, giving, but also confidant and wise. 

That is, she  _ hoped _ she was going to be.

Starting with, where was the baby going to sleep? She walked a couple steps into the room, planning in her mind where two dressers would go--one for her and one for the baby--and where the crib would be in relation to the bed.  _ There _ , on the far wall. And hanging above it would be a growing collection of photos, just her and her baby.

Her family.

~≈~≈~

Sandor had heard the commotion and had peered out the curtains to see if he could see anything. But of course he wasn’t able to--his apartment faced the side of the property and the backyard. But the sounds were unmistakable--a new tenant.

He hoped this one would be better than the idiot who had lived in apartment 1A before--fucking  _ Meryn Trant _ , who had liked to loudly fuck women in the bedroom that unfortunately mirrored his own on the other side of the wall. 

If Sandor had a dime for every time Meryn had left a girl crying in that room…

He couldn’t tell if his new tenant was going to be quiet. He could only hear muffled voices, and though he’d listened through the door, hoping to hear at least some hint about what was going to happen next door, he’d been unable to.

And then he felt embarrassed for trying. What the fuck did he care who the tenant was? So long as they didn’t fuck all the gods-damned night and keep him up like Meryn had. Thank the gods  _ that _ fucker had moved out quickly.

The one voice he  _ had _ heard was Jaime Lannister. 

_ Ah _ , so another one of Jaime’s rescues. Sandor wondered who it was this time. Man? Woman? Family? Old? Young? And what was their story--dying? Addict? Abused? A Lannister cast-off? 

He’d find out soon enough. The tenants in the building were always up in everyone else’s business.

Especially Renly and Loras upstairs in apartment 2B. Fucking twats. He didn’t give a shit if they were gay--they were noisy, and his ceiling and their floor shared a barrier. He’d traded Meryn’s vengeful fucking for the two men’s ravenous fucking.

At least they had the decency to not fuck through the  _ entire _ night.

Petyr Baelish in 2A was another who seemed to like to be  _ in the know _ . Cunt that he was, he was so sickeningly nice about it that Sandor had almost been duped by him when the man had first moved in. But Petyr’s scheming had quickly come to light, and more than a few nice women had been run out of the building by the creepy come-ons of the little bastard.

The rest of them weren’t all that bad, he’d decided. Sandor was the longest-running tenant in the building, having gotten comfortable in his back corner, apartment 1B. 

He didn't bother them, and they didn’t bother him. 

He was still invited to their “block parties,” as Loras liked to call them, but he never went. He wasn’t the social butterfly they all seemed to wish he’d be.

Davos in 2D always surprised him, though, with his surprisingly social nature. Davos Seaworth, a retiree who didn’t seem to have any family close by. He always had a kind greeting for Sandor when they ran into each other, and Sandor often saw him out with the group for their barbeques in the backyard or whatnot. 

The same went for the big ginger in 1C, Tormund. Nice guy, kind of odd, but no more than Sandor, he supposed. He’d seen the ladies in apartment 2C giggle and titter behind raised hands at Tormund's muscular figure and ridiculous Paul Bunyan ginger beard. 

Well, two of the ladies, anyway. It was kind of nice to see the tall blonde woman sneer at the ginger, like she wanted to beat his fucking ass into the ground--could have something to do with the way Tormund always grinned like a cheshire cat when she was around.

The tenants he liked best, the second longest-running tenants in the building in 1D, were Sam and Gilly Tarley. Nice, quiet couple--the best kind of neighbors. He always felt slightly  _ un _ lucky that he didn’t share a wall with them. They were on the opposite side of the building on the front, kitty-corner to his apartment. 

They’d had a couple kids while living there, and the only evidence he ever saw of the little fuckers were the toys on the front and back lawn. No one cared, since Sam and Gilly were usually really good at keeping the toys to a minimum. And Sandor didn’t even mind-- _ much _ \--when he had to move them out of the way to mow the lawn, which he did regularly through the summer to get a discount on his rent. 

It’s not like it took him long to pause the mower and move a toy from in front of him to the side.

He sometimes wondered how they got away with living in a one-bedroom apartment with four people, albeit two of them miniatures. It would be something he’d likely never find out, because he sure as fuck wasn’t going to ask.

And now he had a new tenant to deal with. Well, if there  _ was _ anything to deal with. With any luck he wouldn’t even know they were there.

But he wasn’t one for having good luck, now, was he?

~≈~≈~

Sansa had a meager savings account that she was going to live off of, until she found a source of income. With no work experience, no references, and no resume to speak of, she knew this wasn’t going to be easy. But she needed to find something now that she could do until the baby was born so that when that time came, she could drop down to at most part-time work. Then, she could figure it out from there.

So while she scoured Craigslist for all manner of household goods and furniture, she also perused the job listings, hoping for one that caught her eye.

She wasn’t naive. She knew she wasn’t going to make six figures, and she knew whatever job she found would likely not even be glamorous. But as she worked her way down the listings, she realized none of them were even remotely geared towards her skill set.

Her mother had taught her how to cook, and she was pretty good at that, despite not having to cook anything during the whole past year living with the Lannisters. And she was pretty handy with her sewing machine. Unfortunately she never came across a  _ Pillowcase Maker _ in the job ads.

She was smart, so she supposed she could be a tutor. She wrote that down on her pad of paper, despite not actually seeing a listing for it. Then she decided to forgo the Craigslist offerings and focus on what she  _ could _ do, to add to the list under  _ tutor _ .

Personal chef? Yes, she could do that.

Mending? Was that too 1900s?

She could sing, though not well enough that anyone would pay her to do it. Scratch that idea.

She was a fairly organized person. What was that called? Professional Organizer? 

And she was crafty. She had all manner of art supplies, and could turn an old lampshade into a work of art. The Lannisters, especially Joffrey, had never appreciated that. 

But her parents’ house was decorated with all sorts of her creations, and they all, for the most part, looked like they came out of a high-end bohemian chic catalog--macrame wall hangings, crocheted afghans, repurposed vintage furniture; she’d even tried her hand at making dream catchers and wax paper suncatchers for windows.

Her mother’s favorite was hanging in the entrance to their screen porch--a macrame frame for the door that hung in long fringe, decorated with wooden beads and perfectly setting the scene for the cozy atmosphere of the comfortable room. The color of the door hanging matched the ivory wicker furniture, and the beads complemented the trim lining the low walls where the large openings were covered in the thin screen material. It was in a place of honor in her parents’ home, and she was quite proud of it.

Now that she was thinking about it, she conceded that it had only taken a couple hours to make. Wheels turning, she googled similar hangings to see what the prices would be.

Her jaw dropped. Then she blinked. And rubbed her eyes.

The door frame-- _ pardon _ , door  _ curtain _ \--she had made for her parents easily matched ones being sold for two hundred dollars on the internet.

_ Holy cow _ .

She grabbed her keys and left for the hardware store, knowing that she was about to spend the rest of her day making several of them. She was nothing if not determined.

Later, after she’d had to turn on a light and worked on her couch for what seemed like hours, when her fingers protested at the work and her forearms were cramping with fatigue, she finally finished the last one.

Four door curtains hung over the back of her couch, each with a placeholder dowel to keep the top loops open. 

Sansa had to laugh at herself as she stretched her fingers and forearms. She’d gotten a bit too excited about the project, but didn’t mind, really. If she could sell these for  _ half _ of what she saw them going for online, that meant that she’d made four hundred dollars worth of product today. Now  _ that _ was a productive day.

_ Product _ . That word made her feel funny inside, and it took her a moment to realize that feeling was  _ accomplishment _ . With a small hug to herself, she sighed deeply. 

Maybe this living on her own thing was going to work out. She had skills, and she realized now that they were in fact marketable. She just had to find her market. So as she got ready for bed that night, she decided that the next day she would sit down with her phone and open a small website to sell her items. And with the fantastic light that came in through the living room window, she’d have the perfect backdrop to photograph her products.

For the first time in two months she found herself really excited about something other than the baby, and it felt good. 

She stripped down and pulled on her soft cotton nightgown, then piled her hair on top of her head and set about flossing.

It was then that she heard sounds on the other side of the wall, and she realized it was water  _ inside _ the wall, as though the person on the other side was also in their bathroom, doing something.

Sanse felt a bit creepy, standing there with floss hanging from between her teeth, listening as the person finished running the water, let their medicine cabinet close with a small bang, and then--

It was a man. And he was peeing.

_ Oh my god _ , she thought. The floss still hung from her mouth, and as she really came to the realization of what she was listening to, she shook her head, willing her ears to forget the sound. Then, when that didn’t seem like it was going to happen, she walked swiftly out of the bathroom, feeling the absurd need to give him privacy. 

_ How embarrassing!! _ She could feel her face flame as she resumed flossing all the way over by her kitchen sink.

Well then.... She had not expected her first interaction with her neighbor to be her ears witnessing him relieve himself. She hoped she never set eyes on the man, because now she was going to think of nothing else but that sound. And Heaven forbid she see him and get a  _ visual _ . As if her mind would actually deny picturing him doing…  _ that _ .

She was mortified, and she didn’t even know the guy. Good lord, she was going to go crazy.

She heard the muffled sound of a toilet flushing and breathed a sigh of relief, feeling as though she could enter her own bathroom again to finish getting ready for bed.

But as she sat to pee before leaving the bathroom, she turned on her faucet. 

And her bathroom fan.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're dealing with some odd weather in my neck of the woods. 30F on Wednesday, -25F yesterday and -40F this evening. Gotta love Alaska. 
> 
> My boogers freeze when I walk outside. Just sayin'.
> 
> Anyhoo, moving on - here's chapter 2!

Sandor had been listening to his neighbor for a couple of weeks, now knowing that she was a  _ she _ . He could hear her humming occasionally through the shared wall of their bedrooms, a sound that he didn’t find at all unpleasant. It was certainly better than his co-worker Pod, who insisted on singing horrible versions of eighties pop hits. It was great when they were running drywall mud hoppers and spray rigs, because Sandor couldn’t hear that crap.

But with his neighbor, even late at night he didn’t mind--if she happened to be up late it seemed she knew to forgo music and instead sang to herself, whatever music tickled her fancy. One night he would hear country tunes coming from her, and the next it would be contemporary pop. He was sure he’d even heard some Creedence Clearwater Revival and an AC/DC song once.

He would lay on his back in his bed against that wall, hands behind his head, and just listen. It was almost like a lullabye, and he often found himself waking up in the morning realizing he had fallen asleep to her voice.

So in a way, he liked the new neighbor. She was quiet and considerate, though he wasn’t sure if she was aware she was being so, and he was content with that level of familiarity.

Until the day he caught a glimpse of her, and wished he hadn’t.

It was two weeks after she had moved in and he was coming home from work. It was just after four o'clock in the afternoon and he had closed the door to his apartment when he heard hers open. 

Selfishly, and feeling like a snoop, he remained by his door as he heard the jingle of her keys as she locked her own. Then he counted to five, and cracked open the door of his apartment.

The glass door on the front of the building was just closing behind her. 

He almost wished he hadn’t looked.

_ Those jeans should be illegal _ .

He’d seen women wearing tight jeans, but the ladies upstairs seemed to prefer jeans with big rhinestones on the pockets, or huge holes torn into the thighs. What was it young people called them these days--distressed jeans? Ridiculous. If he got a hole in his jeans or his work pants, he threw them away. Pants with holes were no good.

Especially as a painter and drywaller--they didn’t look professional. Sandor was always one for looking the part, even though he did his best to hide from customers whenever they were around. But Barristan’s paint crew was small and they were used to Sandor, scars and all, so it was a good fit for him. He could focus on his task and not worry about scaring some shit of a customer.

So he kept his appearance neat and presentable, or as neat and presentable as a painter’s clothes could be. 

But those jeans on the new woman--there were no rhinestones, no holes, no fraying at the thigh. They were just dark blue, plain stitching on the ass, and like a second skin on her. They encased her legs tightly from the high waist which showed off the womanly flare of her hips, down her long thighs and calves, to her thin ankles right above strappy flat sandals.

_ Damn _ . He wished he hadn’t seen that.

And later, after he’d showered and was sitting on his couch watching nothing on the TV, he still wished he hadn’t seen it.

And even later, when he was eating his microwaved dinner and flipping through channels, he really wished he hadn’t seen it.

But most of all, when he was laying in bed that night, listening to her hum some slow, lamenting, sexy song, thinking of the way her butt looked as she’d walked down the path and towards her waiting vehicle, when he was reminded that he hadn’t been with a woman in years and would likely be taking himself in hand at some point during the night, not only did he  _ absolutely _ wish he hadn’t seen it, but he started to get angry about it.

It was starting to feel like she was messing up his life by being… beautiful. Sexy. With the voice of a fucking angel.

The next day he dragged himself out of bed, tired from lack of sleep, and realized he didn’t know anything else about her. He didn’t know how tall she was, though judging by those long legs she must have had a couple inches on the two smaller ladies upstairs--though not quite as tall as the blonde giant--nor had he noticed what color her hair was. 

He’d been so caught up by the sight of her in those jeans that he’d forgotten to look at the whole picture.

So when someone slipped an invitation for a “community barbeque” into his mailbox, he considered for a moment actually going. It would be the first, despite having been there for so long, and he knew it would surprise everyone else who went. But… He was curious.

Then again, he  _ could _ just do what he’d always done and spied on people through the small window of his kitchen at the back of the building.

That was, if she decided to go.

The invitation was from Renly and Loras--of course--who wanted to organize a get-together so the new tenant could meet everyone. It said that right there, on the invitation. Well, how could she  _ not _ go, now?

And it wasn’t like he hid from the other tenants on purpose. Well, okay, maybe a little. But he was tired of waiting for people to look at him and see  _ him _ , and not his scars. Hell, they could have been worse--the scars could have taken over the front of his face instead of just the side and nearly half his scalp. 

But it didn’t matter. People stared. They got scared. And they were rude.

Besides, what if Sam and Gilly’s kids were there? The last thing he wanted was to send another little shit screaming for his mother.

But… He also wondered if maybe it was time he socialized with his neighbors.  _ Socialized _ . The word was bitter on his tongue. He wondered if he’d ever get a taste for it.

~≈~≈~

The day of the barbeque arrived and Sansa was nervous. She was going to meet a lot--possibly all of the tenants in the building. She wasn’t sure how she felt about that.

The invitation had been a surprise. Jaime had told her it was like a small community, but he hadn’t told her it involved get-togethers. 

The invitation stated it was from Renly and Loras, which sounded suspiciously like the two men, who lived in apartment 2B on the second floor.  _ Not the bathroom gentleman, then _ . The bathroom gentleman lived in the apartment next to hers.

The invite simply stated  _ Dress casual, bring a dish to share, BYOB _ . 

So she’d made a couple batches of soft lemon cookies and had dressed in her most comfortable sweater dress and leggings, since the evenings were still a bit chilly. And with her hair pulled up into a high ponytail, she felt good, light, nearly carefree.

Except for the slight bump at her belly, which had just started to show. Her obstetrician said it was normal for a woman of her build to show a bit earlier, what with almost no fat on her belly to hide the bump. She didn’t mind, though she wasn’t one to spread around that she was soon to be an unwed mother.

As she turned to look at herself sideways in the full length mirror on her closet door, she slid her hands over the bump. Really, it just looked like she’d had a big lunch. It was a small comfort, though she knew at some point these people  _ would _ know what she’d done, that they  _ would _ know she’d gone and gotten herself pregnant and was hiding away in her small one-bedroom apartment.

But not today. Today she would bask in the glow of success, having made her first few sales on the website she’d started. She had some cash in her purse and her bank account balance had gone  _ up _ for the first time in months. Things were looking up.

When she exited through the door that led to the backyard, she was immediately struck by the ragtag group of people already on the lawn. She tried to keep her question about the late-night bathroom visitor hushed in the back of her mind.

She could see an older gentleman with glasses and a gray beard speaking to a younger couple--an overweight man who had his arm around the short, mousy woman’s shoulders. Seated at the picnic table in the back with all the food sat three women, two who looked to be about her age and one whose sheer size made her age less decipherable. She was at the moment staring up at a very muscular redhead whose hair was of similar color to her own fiery orange, and he was looking down at the blonde as though she was what he had brought to the barbeque to eat--and he wasn’t sharing.

Two men were standing at a grill on the back deck off to the side, oblivious to her presence as they stood close together--the brown haired one flipping burgers and smiling lovingly at the curly-haired one, who had his hand in the brown-haired guy’s back pocket. 

_ Ah _ . Renly and Loras, she surmised.

“Good evening,” came a smooth voice from behind her, and she turned to find an older man of the same height as her, with small eyes and lips pursed into a semblance of a smile.

“Hello, I’m Sansa,” she supplied, though when he took her hand in his he brought it to his mouth and pressed cold, thin lips to her knuckles. She was instantly uneasy, and she felt her smile falter as he took that small liberty.

“I’m Petyr,” he was saying, but he didn’t let go of her hand as they lowered between them. “Welcome to the building.”

“Petyr! Is that your phone? I think I heard it ringing, better go check that.” The brown-haired man had left his partner at the grill to come up to her, and Sansa instantly recognized it as the rescue it was meant to be. The man’s kind eyes looked her up and down, though his gaze was quite obviously assessing her fashion rather than her shape. 

“Hell-o,” he said, a charming smile spreading on his face. When he reached out to shake her hand she did so gladly, and he released her immediately. “I’m Renly, and this,” he gestured to the blonde man who cast a glance and a quick wave in her direction, “Is Loras. We’re in 2B.”

“Sansa, 1A,” she replied, genuinely smiling as the man known as Petyr skulked away towards the picnic table. 

“Here,” she said, holding up the tray of cookies. 

“Great! We can put them on the table!” Together they walked back towards the picnic table, where the redhead moved out of the way to let her pass and where the ladies suddenly quieted enough to introduce themselves as Margaery and Daenerys.

Tormund, the redhead, introduced himself and his  _ girlfriend _ Brienne, though the woman Brienne rolled her eyes, held out her hand to Sansa, and added, “Non-girlfriend. Please save me.” The blonde woman smiled, and if it was possible, love fairly oozed out of the redhead’s grin.

“It’s nice to meet all of you,” Sansa replied happily, and it was. 

She hadn’t really realized how she had missed conversation until a lively one was struck up between her and the three ladies who occupied the picnic table. 

She found out that Margaery and Daenerys were both hairdressers, and that Brienne owned the salon in which they both rented spaces, but did not work there herself. Tormund was an auto mechanic but was in the process of opening his own gym. Petyr announced he was a financial planner, though no one paid much attention to him. With the awkwardness with which he had greeted her on her mind, Sansa wasn’t able to warm up to him like she was the rest of them.

Renly popped over to ask how she liked the apartment, telling her in conversation that he and Loras owned a dance studio and that they planned on getting married later in the summer. 

She was eventually introduced to Davos Seaworth, the older gentleman with the beard, who she liked immediately, and also to Sam and Gilly, who came off as so sickeningly in love that Sansa couldn’t help but smile every time she looked at them.

All in all, it seemed like a good group of people. When Renly announced the burgers were ready, she found herself sandwiched in line between Sam and Davos, the older of the two smiling kindly at her over his lowered glasses.

“Just let me know if you need anything, Sansa. I think for the most part we try to do for each other, you know?”

She nodded and thanked him. 

“I appreciate that, Davos, thank you. I’ve been doing okay on my own, slowly getting settled and filling the apartment with my things.” She’d gone furniture shopping and now finally had a small dining set and box spring, along with three mismatched bar stools for the breakfast bar.

He nodded approvingly when she told him about her purchases, and how she’d found them all at garage sales. 

“But,” she asked, curious, sending a darting glance to the back of the building where she could see curtains over the windows, “Who lives in 1B?” 

By then she knew none of the party-goers were the man from last night, and though she wasn’t going to announce her intention for asking, she felt a perverse curiosity as to whom she had gotten an auditory glimpse of last night.

“Ah,” he said, a tight-lipped smile on his face. “That would be Sandor Clegane. I suspect you’ll see him eventually, though he mainly sticks to himself. However, throughout the summer he mows the lawn regularly.”

“Hmm,” was her only reply, and as the evening wore on she became friendlier and friendlier with her new neighbors.

Dinner was good, and her cookies were a hit, with demands to see them again at the next barbeque coming abundantly from the other people there. She had spoken little about herself, but because of those cookies they now knew she could cook, and were all looking forward to those and other contributions to their future gatherings. Gilly came up to Sansa before she and Sam went inside, asking for the recipe.

“Absolutely, I’ll stick it in your mailbox tomorrow.” That made Gilly smile, showing her severe overbite. She wasn’t pretty in the traditional sense, but the way she lit up when Sam looked at her, Sansa knew Gilly had a deep-seated inner happiness. A flare of jealousy rose up before Sansa tamped it down, feeling ridiculous. 

She’d have that, hopefully, one day.

“Great!” Gilly was saying, and together they turned towards the back deck. “I also wanted to say, that if you need anything, please just come by. We’re in 1D, just across the entryway from you.” Gilly spoke quietly, and she moved her eyes about, making sure there was no one within listening distance. 

“And also, I may have some things you’ll be able to use… You know, when it’s your time.” She pointedly looked at Sansa’s stomach and then back to her face, a kind smile on her lips.

Sansa lips parted in surprise, and she blushed. “How did you know?”

Gilly reached out to cup Sansa’s upper arm in a comforting way. “I’ve been there, I can see it in your face.” Then she giggled and leaned closer, “Plus you’ve barely managed to keep your hand off your belly all night.”

With that the brown-haired woman was collected by her husband and pleasant farewells were said before Sansa made her way to her apartment. 

It’s not that she didn’t want anyone to know, but… well, yes, she didn’t want anyone to know. She wanted what was inside her to be her little secret for now. At least until next month’s ultrasound when she found out if it was a boy or a girl.

But even then, she knew things happened. Babies didn’t always make it. Something went wrong sometimes, and she was afraid to get so attached to something that might not be around for long.

Her OB had assured her the baby was healthy, and that Sansa was healthy enough to carry a baby to full-term. 

“So stop worrying about it,” he’d said, in his friendly bedside manner. “You’ll worry yourself thin and the baby needs you to keep your weight up and eat.”

That night as she got ready for bed, she once again heard movement in the bathroom on the other side of the wall. But just as she was about to turn off the light and walk away, really not wanting to hear the sound of him--Sandor--peeing again, she heard him turn the tub faucet on, and then the change when he switched the flow to the showerhead.

He was  _ showering _ . So much more palatable than the other, she thought, although it made her feel improper when she felt her curiosity about what he looked like deepen.

She finished up and climbed into bed with her phone, spending this time to go through emails and sort through custom orders that were coming in. She had a woman in California who wanted her design but with pink beads, and another woman in Chicago who had requested a light blue door curtain with black beads. Custom orders were nice, but it meant buying more supplies and so she had to charge a bit more. But she didn’t mind. With the money she was making from selling her craft and with her rent being as low as it was--and with Jaime covering her utilities--she was more financially secure than she’d ever been in her entire adult life.

When she finally put the phone down, after compiling a to-do list for the next day and a shopping list, she began humming a lullaby her mother used to hum to her when she was little, and one she knew she would hum to her own baby.

She didn’t know until the next morning, but she had fallen asleep mid-song.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm glad you guys aren't tired of my Modern A/Us yet! I still have more ideas rolling around in my mind for these two love birds <3

Sandor worked his normal schedule the week following the barbeque, not even giving a thought to how rude it was of him to not show up. If they cared, no one said anything. 

He spent his week working with his hands, working the company spray rig as he swayed back and forth, painting a multi-million dollar home on the North side of town. Barristan trusted no one but Sandor to get the job done right, so he was there by himself with only Pod as an assistant, and he was glad of it.

It gave him plenty of time to think on what he’d seen out his window during the barbeque.

_ Fucking Baelish _ . He assumed it was the first time the new woman had met the bastard, by the way she held out her hand to him to shake. And then Petyr had gone and kissed her fucking hand, like some buggering knight of olde. 

But he had watched her face, close enough for him to see her almond eyes going wary when Baelish hadn’t let go, and the smile slipping from her porcelain skin as she realized the smaller man wasn’t as friendly and unassuming as he let everyone believe.

He was glad to see that awareness on her face, and happier still when Renly had quite obviously come to her rescue. 

_ Red _ . Her hair was red, a shade darker than Tormund’s but just as fiercely colored. He didn’t think it was fake, as her eyebrows and eyelashes appeared to closely match. But he wasn’t really close enough to be sure.

Still, she had dressed conservatively in one of those long sweater things, and she appeared anxious, her hand constantly flitting to her stomach in what he guessed was a nervous gesture. He could see she was a fairly quiet person--knew this to be true from the lack of noise that came from her apartment--and he wondered if she was uncomfortable around all the tenants.

At the house he was painting, he stopped what he was doing to open and mix another five-gallon bucket of paint. It only took a few minutes before he was replacing the empty one sitting under the spray rig with the new, full one.

Then he was back at spraying, his hair covered by a bandana, pulled back and tied into a ponytail at the nape of his neck while he tried to ignore the annoying sounds of Pod’s singing, his current attempt a screeching version of  _ Forever Young _ .

Sandor wore a respirator over his face but it never did much good. It prevented paint from getting on most of his beard, but the beard prevented the mask from getting a good seal. So while he never had to inhale paint spray, he was sure the fumes got to him occasionally. 

He wondered if the fumes helped him tolerate Pod’s singing.

Now, as he continued spraying where he had left off, his mind wandered back to the new woman. Red hair? Yes. Ivory skin? Yes. Blue eyes? He was fairly certain. And the sexiest ass he’d ever seen on a woman?  _ Hell yes _ . 

It was going to irritate him, knowing he was living next door to a beautiful woman like that, and it also made him mad that Petyr Baelish had already had his hands on her. Not that Sandor held any hopes of laying claim to her, or any woman, for that matter.

But Baelish irritated the fuck out of him, and one of these days he was going to push Sandor too far.

As it turned out, that moment came that very afternoon.

Sandor drove up to the building and parked in his spot, on the end, right next to the new woman’s little hatchback. His big F-350 dwarfed her car, and he was pretty sure hers would fit in the bed of his.

He piled his respirator, bandana, a few brushes that needed cleaning, and some trash into a tool bag he used to cart around his stuff, and got out of the truck. Even to him, he had to step down. But that’s the way he liked his vehicle--big enough to fit his six-and-a-half-foot frame.

As he walked up the path to the community door of the building, he could see beyond the glass Baelish as he walked up to the new woman.

Sandor instantly bristled. Baelish just rubbed him the wrong way, and he was going to make sure nothing happened between the slimy prick and the woman who was just now turning to greet said prick.

He was approaching the door when he saw Baelish take a slow step forward and put a hand on her arm, effectively backing the woman up against her own closed door. And as Sandor reached for the door handle, the woman’s shoulders came up defensively and she pulled her hands in close to her body, one going flat against her stomach.

“Baelish,” he growled as he flung open the door. 

The woman jumped and looked at him, but Petyr just leisurely turned, keeping his hand where it was on her arm, a smile on his thin lips for Sandor.

“Ah, Clegane. Good to see you again.” 

He said the words as though he hadn’t just been doing something untowards to the new tenant. 

Sandor was fuming. 

“Get your hand off her,” he said, his voice low and menacing. Despite staring at Baelish’s eyes, he could see the woman’s own go wide, staring at his face as though  _ he _ was the one she should fear.

But no, her body language clearly said “Go away” to Baelish, and Baelish wasn’t picking up the fucking  hint.

“We’re just chatting, Clegane. Why don’t you run along, and we’ll catch up later, hmm?” He remained where he was, and Sandor saw Baelish’s thumb stroke the bare skin of her arm. The woman shuddered, though her gaze was still locked on him.

Sandor looked at her, his eyes connecting with hers, and he could see fear in them as clearly as if she’d told him he looked hideous. It hurt, yes, but then it always did. But still…

Growling again, he stalked forward and clamped a hand on Baelish’s wrist.

“I said. Let. Go.” He enunciated every word, thankful the good side of his face was facing the woman as her eyes went between Baelish and Sandor, uncertainty written over her face.

The contact between the two men finally convinced Petyr to do just that, and he stepped away. 

“My apologies, Sansa,” he said, his voice smooth like expensive scotch. “I don’t want to keep you from your tasks. Just remember what I said, and think about it.” And with that he twisted his wrist out of Sandor’s grasp and walked out the front door, the bottom corners of his blazer flying upwards with the breeze that came in from outside.

When Sandor turned back to the woman--Sansa--she had a hand over her mouth. He guessed she was shocked at his appearance, perhaps at his size, his demeanor. Whatever it was, her eyes were open wide and she didn’t say anything. Not even a  _ thank you _ , as she quickly turned, unlocked her door, and ran into her apartment with a slam of the door.

He only stuck around long enough to realize she hadn’t even locked her door, before he stalked back to his and unlocked it. He dropped his bag by the door and went into the bathroom to wash the paint off him, but paused.

The sound he heard was more crushing than anything he had ever heard before, as the sounds drifted through their shared wall and he could clearly hear her on the other side.

She was throwing up.  _ Fucking throwing up _ .  _ For fuck’s sake _ .

If Baelish hadn’t put him in a shit mood he might have laughed. He knew he was ugly, but  _ damn _ . Vomit? That was a new one. And it dredged up every insecurity he had ever thought, every disparaging remark he had ever said about himself, to himself.

He turned on the faucet to drown out the remaining sounds she was making, though he was aware of when she flushed the toilet, as he could hear the pipes bubbling in the walls.

He began scrubbing his arms and face, but decided on a shower instead.

Beneath the hot stream of water he fumed, angry at her, angry at life, angry at himself. 

On the one hand, he felt like he shouldn’t have stepped in. That a woman who reacted to him the way she did, didn’t deserve his interference. If she was like the rest of them--shallow and insincere, overly concerned with what was on the outside of a person rather than what was on the inside, than he should have just walked on by and ignored them both.

But then, he hadn’t known how she would react, and truth be told, he already felt a bit protective over her. It wasn’t just because she was so damned beautiful, either, although she could stand to have a bit darker skin, perhaps lips a little less full, and hair a more normal color. 

No, it was everything about her--the way she looked, the pleasant way with which she interacted with the guests at the barbeque, the way she kept her music down at night and the way she often hummed him to sleep. It was everything. Everything that made her a woman who didn’t deserve to be manhandled by Petyr Fucking Baelish.

So yes, he likely would have stepped in even if he’d known how she was going to react to him. But that didn’t make it hurt any less, or disappoint him any less.

And yes, he likely would still try to watch out for her. He didn’t know what it was Baelish had said to her, but from the looks of her body language, she hadn’t liked it. 

So he could go on torturing himself, and he would do his best to make sure Baelish kept it in his pants.

~≈~≈~

Sansa felt awful. Not only because she had just thrown up everything she’d eaten during her afternoon snack and quite possibly lunch before that, and not only because her stomach was cramping and she was doubled over on the floor of the bathroom; but because she hadn’t been able to greet Sandor Clegane like a normal person.

_ Oh gods, what must he think _ ?! 

She had been caught off guard by so many things today, the first being the order from a boho chic bed and breakfast for five door curtains, to which she had kindly offered in return a nice discount for the bulk order. So now, with a fresh deposit of money in her bank account, she had been on her way to get the supplies needed and had told them she would have them shipped out by the weekend. That gave her four days to make them.

But as she’d left her apartment she had turned to see Petyr standing behind her, having creepily snuck up on her while she was locking her door.

_ Those eyes _ \--he looked as though he was measuring her, calculating exactly how much effort it was going to take to get into her pants. She had never before so instantly reviled another person, not like she did him. He made her skin crawl, and when he’d stepped closer after telling her he wanted to make dinner for her that night, she had told him firmly,  _ No _ . 

But that step closer meant she could smell his breath, and it had been  _ awful _ , as though he never brushed his teeth. She hadn’t been afflicted by much morning sickness during the pregnancy, but that scent brought it up in her so quickly that when Sandor had suddenly appeared at the door, she was instantly afraid she was going to vomit on the floor in front of both of the men.

She had been only momentarily distracted by the behemoth of a man who had growled at Petyr, and surprised when Petyr had addressed him by the same last name Davos had told her at the barbeque. 

_ Ah, so this is Sandor _ , she had thought, but then she felt the bile sneaking up into her throat as she watched the scene in front of her play out.

If only Petyr hadn’t put his hand on her, or rubbed at her, which she saw Sandor’s eyes go to when he stepped close. 

If someone could murder with their eyes, Petyr would have been dead then.

Then Sandor had stepped close, his great height making him loom over both of them, and Sansa could smell  _ more _ \--paint, she decided, as the hairy arm that came out to clamp onto Petyr’s wrist was covered in splatters, as were Sandor’s clothes. Covered, actually, in different colors of paint. Well, she knew what he did for a living, then.

But the scent of paint was her undoing, and she kept her eyes up and locked on him as he rasped at Petyr to let her go, fearing that at any moment, if the men didn't step away and let her back into her apartment, she was going to embarrass herself and throw up on one or both of them. 

What would Sandor say to her adding vomit to those paint stains?

But then suddenly Petyr was gone and she was looking into the face of the most intimidating man she’d ever seen, with scars on his temple and cheek that she hadn’t noticed before, staring down at her. 

She had opened her mouth to introduce herself and had instantly realized she didn’t have time.

She made it to the toilet in record time, the contents of her stomach heaving immediately. It was horrible, vomiting that she had no control over.

Her obstetrician had told her about morning sickness, and now she knew two triggers of it--bad breath, and paint fumes. Thank the gods she had decided against painting and selling rocks. 

And now she laid on the bathroom floor, her head pillowed on her arm as she rested in the fetal position, listening to Sandor take a shower.  _ Gods, what a day _ .

But as she rested there and her stomach began to calm, she thought on the man she had seen. 

She was going to have to apologize, and she hoped that when she did he wouldn’t look at her the way he had in the hallway--like he was angry at  _ her _ . Well, perhaps after she apologized he wouldn’t. She was sure he thought he was repulsive, which he really wasn’t. But that made her think, he likely thought  _ she _ thought he was repulsive, which also wasn’t true. Not really. Not much.

Well, his scars  _ were _ hideous. She couldn’t imagine what kind of pain he’d gone through to receive them, and she pushed that thought away as a second wave of nausea threatened to overcome her.

No, instead she thought on his intense gray eyes, the darkness of his long hair, the faint spray of paint on the edges of his beard. If ever she had thought of the image of Blackbeard the pirate, Sandor fit the description. He was tall and menacing and grumpy and yes, scary. But he was also her neighbor, and likely would be for a long time. So she needed to apologize, just as soon as she was feeling better.

It turned out that that wasn’t that day, or even the next. It wasn’t the following day until she started to feel like she didn’t have a stomach bug and had somewhat recovered enough to find the note slipped under her door, instructions from Petyr to call him whenever she felt up to having dinner. She threw it in the trash.

It was early in the morning yet but she took a quick shower and dressed. Because the weather was warmer she opted for a stretchy knit dress that was only slightly tight over her barely-there bump. She had always liked the pattern though, as it was made to look like white batik dragonflies on a background of different shades of light blue. She paired it with a pair of sensible white sandals and grabbed her purse, ready to hit the home improvement stores to see where she could find some nice blue rope.

But as she walked out her door, she very nearly bumped into Sandor--clean, and carrying the box of tools he had been carrying the other day, with his seemingly trademark scowl plastered to his face.

“Oh!” she exclaimed, stepping back so he didn’t run into her. 

He just sent her a withering look and kept walking.  _ Oh, this was bad _ , she thought, sadly. 

“Hey, wait!” She quickly locked her door and followed him, though he was already out at the parking lot, putting his toolbox in the bed of the truck. “Wait! Mr. Clegane!” But he was  _ not _ waiting, despite clearly having heard her. And before she even reached the fence separating the lawn from the parking lot, his truck roared to life and he was backing out of his spot, and driving off.

_ Crap crap crap _ . He was upset. Mad, really, based on the way he’d looked at her. Furious, even. 

And insufferably rude.

But Sansa needed to see the good in people after the year she’d had with an asshole like Joffrey, so she largely ignored that part.

_ What a great way to get to know your new neighbor _ , she thought, sarcasm lacing her thoughts.  _ Good start. Well done _ .

She was about to get into her car when she heard a voice from behind her. 

“Good morning, Sansa,” came the pleasantry, and she turned to see Sam walking up to her, a stack of textbooks under his arm.

Finally, a friendly face. 

Literally friendly, and not a I-Hate-You scowl. 

“Good morning, Sam, how are you and Gilly?” 

“Good, good,” said the slightly round man. He was youthful looking, with pale skin and a small mustache. But he looked uncomfortable and was shifting between his feet, and Sansa felt a fondness for him if this is what he was normally like. She liked his calmness and his love for Gilly, and how he was just so  _ nice _ .

“So, uh,” he said quietly, and he looked away before looking back at her, “Gilly told me the good news.” 

She hadn’t expected that.

Well, it wasn’t like she had told Gilly not to tell anyone. And the way Sam was looking at her made it seem like he thought he was going to upset her for letting her know Gilly had spilled the beans.

So Sansa smiled at him, putting her hand on her stomach again, and Sam smiled back. She simply said, “Yes, thank you.”

“How much longer do you have?”

“Almost five months, gods willing,” she said wistfully, feeling at once like it was an enormous amount of time but also right around the corner. Sam grinned, as though they were not talking about a subject he was familiar with.

“When Gilly was pregnant with little Alden she was sick much of the time, but Lily was different. With Lily, Gilly was healthy throughout. How have you been feeling?”

Again, she smiled at him, knowing his words were said out of pure kindness and concern.

“Pretty good, although I had an incident a couple days ago where it seemed like everything made me want to throw up.” Sam chuckled.

“Well, if you need anything, don’t hesitate to cross the hall and ask. Gilly’s there most of the time with the kids, and she’d be happy for the company.” With that he said his farewells and waved at Sansa as he got into his car.

Well, if that wasn’t just the most pleasant conversation she’d had since moving in...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to post regularly, but I turned 38 weeks pregnant yesterday and they're talking about induction. They think he's a big boy! I compromised with them and agreed on next Thursday, which will be 39w1d, so around that time posting might become a bit slow as we enjoy our new little one. 
> 
> Thanks to all of you who stick with me and my irregular posting schedule. I'll try to keep it to every 3 or 4 days, which will make this story fairly long with 41 chapters. Happy Hump Day!


	4. Chapter 4

Sandor pulled into his parking spot outside the apartment building and turned his truck off, but he didn’t get out. He looked down onto the roof of Sansa’s tiny car, instantly irritated again. He had spent most of the day blessedly not thinking about her, and now there was a glaring yellow reminder beside him of what she had put him through two days prior.

He almost turned around and went to the store. At least when people stared at him there, he didn’t take it so personally. People staring at him in public was nothing new.

It was when people stared at him who were close to him--as close as a neighbor could  _ be _ to him, he supposed--that he got most offended.

All the tenants had done it at one point. Well, all except for Davos. Davos didn’t care what a person looked like. He decided whether he liked you based on your character, and since Sandor had no reason to act poorly towards the older man, Davos had always seemed to respect him.

But the ladies in 2C upstairs had openly stared, even to the point of grimacing when he so much as looked at them. So did Renly and Loras, although somehow the ladies had moved onto other, more interesting things, while Renly and Loras had decided flirting with him was better. He got the feeling it made them more comfortable to make him  _ un _ comfortable. At least he didn’t have to see the men often--only in passing in the hallway on occasion.

Sam and Gilly had clearly been intimidated by him at first, but now were as pleasant to him as if he didn’t have any scars at all. But Tormund liked to joke, and often asked him who he pissed off or what kind of dog was it that attacked him. If it wasn’t often followed up with  _ Come over sometime for a beer _ , Sandor wouldn’t know the big ginger actually liked him.

And Petyr? Sandor wrapped his fingers around the steering wheel tightly, wishing it was Petyr’s neck.

_ Fuck him _ . If he actually cared about what Petyr Fucking Baelish thought of him, he’d elect to crawl in a hole and die.

But the way the slimy man had touched Sansa a couple days ago--had permitted himself the liberty of cornering her,  _ another _ woman in the building, in such a manner--made Sandor see red.

_ Sansa _ . There was a new face being added to this equation, to the fucking circus that was this building. And she was so hideously aware of his scars, so terrified by them, that he had actually made her vomit. No one was  _ ever _ going to top that. 

It was new, this idea that he had grossed someone out so much that her body had involuntarily voided itself of the the last foods she ate, such was the violent reaction to his appearance. 

He was also pissed that that had been her reaction. It didn’t matter that it was something her body wasn’t likely able to control--that she’d been unable to control her reaction  _ at all _ infuriated him.

And he was also mad because she was so damned attractive, but why this made him even angrier was something he chose not to examine.

He knew he couldn’t avoid her forever, and in fact felt it was the coward’s way out, sitting here in his truck, staring at her car. 

So he grabbed his toolbox and got out, only to find her waiting for him at the fucking door to her apartment.

His footsteps only faltered a little bit when he saw her, and he kept walking, not even acknowledging her. But she immediately followed him, carrying a covered pan and a covered pot, one in each hand.

_ Fucking hell _ .

“Excuse me,” she said from right behind him as he unlocked his door. He could hear her voice so far below his ears, aimed at the back of his shoulders. 

It didn’t appear that she was vomiting right now, which was… better than the alternative. Hadn’t she just gotten a good glimpse of his face? He turned around and sneered at her before once again turning his back.

“What,” he questioned, making his voice sound intimidating. He didn’t turn around again--didn’t want to offend her  _ delicate sensibilities _ by making her look at him.

“I, uh…” He heard her shuffle her feet. “I’m sorry,” she said, almost a whisper, but then her voice grew more confident. “I wanted to to apologize for what happened a couple days ago, and for my behavior.” 

She paused, and he thought she might be waiting for something. Well, whatever it was, she wasn’t going to get it.

But she was holding two pans so when he opened his door and entered his apartment, he left the door open, wondering what she was going to do with them. 

He would have preferred slamming the door in her face.

“Please,” she said from the threshold, “Would you let me explain?” 

Her voice was smooth and plaintive, but he ignored the way it sounded pleasant to his ears.

He dropped his toolbox by the door and kicked off his work boots on the mat. Then he walked straight into the bathroom to wash his face and arms.

It took a moment before she appeared in his peripheral vision, all summery dress and red hair. And legs-- _ gods, _ she had legs for days. It made him even more angry--that she was the lethal combination of sexy as hell and disgusted by his looks. It wasn’t often he ran into that infuriating mix. 

He wanted to yell at her, to tell her to get the fuck out of his apartment, but he held his tongue. Let her say her peace and then boot her out.

“I’m sorry,” she said again from where she stood, halfway between his kitchen and living room, in the middle of the floor, when he didn’t bother to acknowledge her. “I was too shocked by Petyr’s behavior to react wisely, and when you came in and told him to let go of me, you were...“ 

She cleared her throat, and he glanced at her as she looked away for a moment, visibly swallowing. But when she looked back he went about what he’d been doing--waiting for the warm water so he could wet the washcloth.

He had the thought then, that he couldn’t remember if he’d ever had a woman in his apartment. He didn’t think so, but then he’d been there for so long that he just might have forgotten.

If only it had been on better circumstances, now, instead of this--her weak-ass apology for nearly barfing in his face. 

It was unsettling having a woman in his apartment, and he turned his mind away from the thought. Instead, he focused on the task at hand.

“You were…” she began again, but then she was looking around with wide eyes as though searching for something, and she suddenly disappeared from sight, making him wonder what she was up to. But she’d walked in the direction of the kitchen--not the door, like he’d wanted. Or expected. 

When she reappeared her hand was on her stomach, and her face looked suspiciously like what it had the other day, though a paler version, her eyes widening with fear.

“That smell--” her hand came up to cup over her mouth as the other braced against the bathroom door jam, and she looked up at him. Yes, that was exactly the expression she had used when she’d looked at him that day.  _ What the fuck? _

“Paint,” he supplied, barely managing to keep his voice down and on an even keel. The water was beginning to warm. “I’m a painter.” 

But she wasn’t listening. Instead she was shaking her head and she turned, looking like she was going to bolt for the door but deciding against it. Because all of a sudden she was rushing into the small bathroom where he was standing, brushing by him as he stood at the vanity with his hand under the stream of water, and dropping to her knees in front of the mercifully clean toilet.

And she vomited. Horribly. Loudly.

Sandor was so shocked that he stood there watching her for a few seconds before he came to his senses and shut the water off, bending over her and clumsily pulling at her hair until he held it back from the bowl and at the back of her neck.

It was warm where it had been laying against her body, feeling like an impossibly soft contrast to the roughness of his palm. And that color--like fire laid across his skin. He blinked at the comparison as images of a hot fireplace flashed through his mind. 

But just as quickly he pushed them away and focused on this slip of a woman who was emptying the contents of her stomach into his toilet.

“Oh gods,” she muttered, pausing to spit into the bowl before her body was once again wracked with heaves, her rib cage expanding and contracting beneath the smooth fabric of her dress. 

Then she coughed, heaved, coughed again, and held onto the toilet seat with white knuckled fingers. 

“I’m--sorry,” she gasped, and coughed again. “I’m so sorry, you shouldn’t have to see that.”

Sandor didn’t know what to say. 

What the fuck was going on? Was his face that bad? So bad that she’d had to vomit a second time? 

His anger was still there, a constant simmer but mixed now with confusion as he tried to puzzle his way through this insane situation.

But no, she had mentioned smelling something--paint. His whole apartment tended to smell like paint when he got home from work. Was she allergic? Sensitive?

When Sansa sat back on her heels he assumed she was done, so he went quickly to the kitchen and got her a glass of water. He could hear the toilet flush, and she was pulling herself up, but only so far as to sit on the edge of the tub.

“Geez, that makes me feel so weak,” she said whisperingly. 

She closed her eyes and put a hand on her forehead. Sandor handed her the glass of water and then wet the washcloth, but this time with cool water before also handing it to her. She managed a weak  _ Thank you _ before she wiped at her mouth and her forehead.

“We’re best friends now,” she joked weakly into the wet cloth. “I just puked in your toilet.” 

Then she smiled up at him-- _ gods, how could she smile at a time like this?! _ \--and shot him an amused look before covering her face again with the washcloth. 

And how was it that she could look at him just then and not show disgust for his features?

_ Fuck _ , he was confused.

“Are you sick?” He didn’t know what else to say, what to do. What he had just seen was… He didn’t know. Scary? Absurd? Unexpected? All of the above, likely. But at his question she laughed, quietly and shortly, but it was a laugh nonetheless.

“You could say that,” she said, and again her hand went to her stomach. 

It was almost like…

His one eyebrow rose, and he felt the scars on the other side pull tight as his forehead wanted to wrinkle.

“Oh--” he said. 

Baby. 

Pregnant. 

She was going to have a baby. And she’d just thrown up in his bathroom because she smelled paint and it made her nauseous. 

_ Oh _ .

“I, uh…” 

_ Well, shit _ .

He was dumbfounded. Anger still simmered beneath his surface, but it was lessened now, and he was wildly unsettled. He wasn’t sure what he should do, if anything. 

He thought for a moment to be angry at her for taking liberties with his toilet, but pushed that thought aside. What he had just seen her do had most assuredly not been easy on her body.

But then she looked up at him, and he didn’t hide the horrified look on his face fast enough. Her own fell, a cool mask of indifference sliding over her features as she took in the expression on his face.

“Anyway,” she said loudly and pointedly, bracing a hand on the wall as she stood, “Nice chatting with you.” She walked slowly towards him, dropping the washcloth on the corner of the counter, her hand tracing a path on his wall that mirrored her steps, as though she didn’t want to take one step without something to lean against. 

“I’m sorry I threw up in your toilet.” 

She kept talking, though she wasn’t looking at him. Her head was down, her shoulders slumped--he barely had time to wonder what she’d thought of his reaction, to be acting this way now as he turned his back to his vanity mirror so she could squeeze by him.

He smelled something as she did--berries. Raspberry, perhaps. It must have been her shampoo.

She rounded the corner of the bathroom door, still holding onto the wall of his living room. 

“I made you Swedish meatballs and steamed broccoli to make up for what happened the other day. You can get the pans back to me whenever.” Then she laughed harshly, without humor, her back to him as she reached his door. “I won’t be needing them anytime soon.”

Just as she stepped into the hallway, she collapsed.


	5. Chapter 5

Sansa awoke just as the paramedics were wheeling the stretcher into the ambulance. Her head felt foggy, but she was aware she was strapped onto her back on a hard mat, and she wasn’t able to see anything.

“Sandor!” She called, the name of the last person she’d seen, and suddenly saw a huge hand land on the shoulder of the paramedic who stood by the door. Then Sandor’s face appeared, all dark hair and scars and scowl, peering down at her.

“You fainted, Sansa. I had to call.” His tone said he knew she'd be unhappy about it.

“What?!” She shook her head and brought a hand up to her forehead, feeling ridiculous, panicking as well. “Sandor, no, just… Stop, please! I don’t have the greatest medical insurance, I can’t afford this!” 

“Don’t worry about that,” he impatiently snapped at her. 

He was  _ irritated?? _

“Is there someone I can call for you? Family?” Sansa shook her head, not quite understanding what was happening, why he had attitude but was also attempting to act in her best interests. It irritated  _ her!  _

Don’t worry about it? Yeah, sure, don’t worry about a trip to the emergency department that was probably going to cost about a thousand dollars. 

_ Oh gods, my custom orders. _ There was nothing she could do about them, now.

“Just… My phone. Sandor, could you get my phone?”

“Sir, we should leave,” one of the medics was saying, and she saw Sandor nod. But then he looked over at her, a reproachful look on his face. She wanted to call him a bastard.

Instead she called out to him again.

“Sandor, wait!”

“I’ll meet you at the hospital, Sansa,” was all he said before walking away. 

_ Damn it _ , she thought. Why did he have a bad attitude? She was going to give the brute a piece of her mind when she saw him next. 

Then the doors were closing and she couldn’t see him anymore. She laid there while the medic put an IV in her arm and got her started on fluids, before he thumped on the back wall of the ambulance and she felt them start to move.

It took only a few minutes before they were pulling into the bay and she was being carted back to a room in the ER. A Dr. Mel came in, a pretty woman with dark red hair and an excellent school-marm bedside manner.

“Hello Sansa, how are you doing today?”

“I’m fine, now,” she said, trying to remain calm. She had to remind herself not to get snippy. It wasn’t this woman’s fault that Sandor had overreacted, the real source of her irritation. No, that was solely on  _ his _ shoulders.

“How are you feeling right now? I read in your chart that you fainted after vomiting?”

Sansa nodded, and let her head rest back against the raised bed. 

“I worked at some projects all day today, for an order that’s due to go out in two days, and I think I just forgot to eat or something.” She swallowed, and the doctor handed her a cup of water with ice. It tasted heavenly. But even as she heard herself say the words, she knew she'd been careless with her health.

“And your records say you’re just over four months pregnant?”

Sansa nodded again.

“Forgetting to eat is not an option when you have someone else relying on your body for nourishment.”

_ Ouch _ . No bedside manner, she corrected herself.

Just then there was a knock at the door. Dr. Mel lifted the curtain aside to see who it was.

Sandor.

Sansa crossed her arms beneath her breasts and looked away, at the opposite wall. 

“I have your phone,” he said as he entered the room, and he sounded like he'd gone out of his way just to do this one small thing for her… Well, he damned well better get rid of that attitude, because she was pissed at him.

“Thank you,” she clipped, only glancing at him, standing there just inside the door like a big chunk of irritability. It chafed, seeing that expression on his scarred face, as though  _ he _ had a right to be annoyed with  _ her _ . “Can you give it to me, please?” She let her mood shine through her words. 

Sandor turned to pull the curtain back into place, and then walked to her bedside. She saw that he kept his head slightly turned, hiding his scars from her. 

He put the phone into her outstretched palm and back away a step, as though he saw on her face that she wanted to chuck it at his head.

“Are you the father?” Dr. Mel asked him, and if Sansa hadn’t been so mad at the man, she would have laughed at the mix of anger and horror on his face. 

“What?? No,  _ gods _ , no.” He stammered, and added, “I just called the ambulance.” Seeing the giant of a man trip over those words mollified her somewhat. 

The doctor narrowed her eyes at him before looking back at Sansa.

“It was a good call. She needed those fluids the medics gave her, and I suspect she’ll be good to go home in an hour. With the baby being this early in development, the amniotic sac is still providing ample cushioning, so I have no concerns that the fall affected it.” She walked over to the sink and began to wash her hands. 

Good, that meant this was going to be an easy visit and Sansa could walk out when she was done.

“However,” said Dr. Mel over the sound of rushing water, “I’ll do a quick exam just in case, and we’ll perform an ultrasound to check on the baby.” She gave Sansa an encouraging nod, but Sansa just turned to glare at Sandor. 

So much for  _ easy _ .

He glared back from where he was standing, and she pursed her lips before sending a quick text off to Arya, saying she’d fainted and was getting checked out at the hospital, but that everything was fine and she’d call later.

“I’ll just step out,” Sandor was saying, and he moved towards the door as Dr. Mel pulled on gloves and arranged a stool and exam tray at the end of the obstetrics bed. 

“Don’t. You. Dare.” Sansa was  _ not _ going to go through this alone, and he was here and he was going to  _ stay _ , and sit with her through this exam. Because  _ he  _ had done this.  _ He _ was the reason she was here.

She wasn't about to tell him that she was scared. He didn't have to know he had the upperhand here.

“Don’t you want privacy?” Sandor put his hands on his hips, and it was obvious he was trying to take on an attitude of authority, but it wasn’t going to work. She could ignore that scowl, and the way the scars somehow magnified it's effect. Plus, she saw something in his face that he likely didn't want her to see--this was making him very uncomfortable.

“Sir, you can pull up that chair and sit by her head. You won’t see anything from there.”

Sansa smirked at him as Dr. Mel said the words, and using another pointed expression, looked at the chair and then back at him.

“Sit,” she demanded, and his arms slowly slid down to hang at his sides. She had never seen a man his size pout before, but she was seeing it now beneath that haughty attitude, and it made her spirits rise just a bit.

“I’m going to lift your hips to slide your panties off, and then we’ll get the internal exam over with quickly before moving onto the ultrasound, okay?”

Sansa nodded at Dr. Mel as she draped a sheet over Sansa’s lap, instructing her to  _ Lift _ so she could pull the panties down over Sansa’s hips. She felt Sandor squirm in his seat as the doctor tucked the panties up under Sansa’s thigh and out of sight. 

But she knew he’d seen a glimpse of them. Yellow lace. She  _ hoped _ he was squirming.

Then came the part she didn’t like, as Dr. Mel squeezed out some liquid lubrication jelly onto her fingers and stood, one hand on Sansa’s small belly.

“This is going to be uncomfortable for just a moment, okay?”

Sansa nodded, but she looked away. Then, as an afterthought, and because he was her only lifeline at the moment, she held out her hand in Sandor’s direction and waited for him to take it.

He didn’t much to her dismay, and as Dr. Mel began her exam, Sansa quickly turned her head towards him. 

They had been this close before, but she put aside her anger at him for just a moment while she begged with her eyes for him to hold her hand. He must have seen something in them, because his scowl faltered as he looked at her face. Then she felt her hand disappear within both of his own, and she clamped her eyes shut then, head still turned towards him, willing to get through the exam quickly and move onto the ultrasound.

The exam itself was only slightly uncomfortable, like Dr. Mel had said it would be, but it was that a stranger was touching her, putting their  _ fingers _ inside her, and she didn’t like that. Her regular obstetrician was the woman Robb’s wife had seen, so at least they had someone to talk about while she was examining Sansa.

_ This _ was a strange woman, and Sansa was in a strange room, in a strange hospital, and literally the only thing even remotely familiar to her right now was the sulking giant of a man sitting next to her. 

The man who, only an hour or so prior, had held her hair while she puked her guts out in his toilet.

He rearranged her hand so that she could grip the meaty part of his thumb, and she was grateful, because before she knew it she was holding onto him for dear life, her other hand a strong grip in the sheet next to her.

Then it was over, and she felt the absence of the doctor’s hand before realizing Sandor was gripping her hand almost as tightly as she was gripping his.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter for you guys, addressing a bit of what has been happening in the comment section. Again, this isn't going to be a big issue, but it's the elephant in the room that had to come up in the writing of this story.
> 
> Lots of love and thanks for your wonderful comments and support. Tomorrow I go in for induction! I'm nervous, but I'm just a few days shy of 40 weeks and am ready to meet my baby boy. So are his sisters and his daddy <3
> 
> If you don't hear from me for a few days have no worries. I'll be back to posting soon. This baby is #4. A walk in the park. Been there, done that, got the stained t-shirts to prove it. Love you guys <3

Sandor was uncomfortable. 

No, that wasn’t strong enough. He wished he was anywhere but there, in the Emergency Room. He wished he hadn’t followed her to the hospital. Wished she hadn’t followed him to his apartment, smelled the paint on him, or threw up in his toilet.

But then, she wouldn’t have had anyone to look at like the way she had just done--eyes pleading for some small measure of comfort.

_ Fuck _ . 

She hadn't been taking care of herself, so in reality there was only one place for him, now that he knew he was the only thing standing between her and complete dehydration. Though he initially hadn’t understood why she wanted him to be in the room, he did understand her tone. She was angry.

And now he understood why being in the room with her had worked out. That iron grip she had on his hand while the doctor was examining her was proof of her need for a companion in that moment.

So he stayed willingly, allowing her that moment of ease in thinking it was her  _ demand _ that he stay that had actually made him stay, when in fact it was the plea in her eyes that had done it.

When the doctor was done and she was stripping off her gloves and throwing them away, Sansa let go of his hand. And after a moment the doctor was pulling the sheet down so far that Sandor averted his eyes, for fear he’d see her pubic hair there, between her legs.

Except that, the way Dr. Mel tucked the sheet under Sansa’s hips, there had been no need to worry. And after the dress was drawn up to just under her breasts, revealing to his eyes the slight bump underneath that he knew was a baby, he had to swallow around the unexpected lump of desire that wedged itself in his throat.

He was looking at the most beautiful creamy expanse of skin he’d ever seen. 

_ Fucking hell _ , he was attracted to a pregnant woman. What the fuck was wrong with him?

He didn’t have time to dwell on that because Dr. Mel had wheeled over a monitor and was squeezing out a generous amount of jelly onto that perfect belly. Then she put the ultrasound wand on the smooth skin and moved it around.

Sandor didn’t know what to watch--the doctor, whose face he was sure would show if there was something wrong with the baby. 

Or the ultrasound monitor, which his eyes were unable to decipher anything that was on it.

Or perhaps Sansa’s face? She was staring at the monitor, her chest moving in short, quick breaths, with--what emotion? Interest? Expectation? 

But no, the way her eyebrows drew together and how she bit at her lower lip, he recognized her face for what it showed. She was  _ worried _ , which only brought to mind what the doctor had hinted at earlier, a moment before he’d knocked on the door.

He was certain Sansa  _ knew _ she had to take care of the baby. But what was she doing, that she had forgotten to eat? Aware that he had been eavesdropping, he chose not to question it. He didn’t need her thinking anything incriminating about him, especially right now.

Her quietly indrawn breath made him look at what she was seeing on the screen, and he found himself holding his own breath.

It was a face. And not just any face--but a human face. He really hadn’t known what to expect when looking at an ultrasound--had never actually seen one in person--but somehow that lump in Sansa’s stomach actually looked human.

Sandor was now unaccountably swallowing past a different kind of lump in his throat. 

_ Holy shit _ . Sansa had a baby human inside her.

“Sandor?”

At his name, he glanced down at her, only realizing then that his mouth was hanging open. And also only realizing then that the scarred side of his face was to her, and he hadn’t even bothered to switch sides to prevent that.

_ Shit _ . He ducked his head, wanting to go away but knowing she wouldn’t allow it. Her brow was now smooth, but she was looking at him--no,  _ studying _ him, as though to gauge his reaction to seeing the ultrasound.

“Ah, here’s what I was looking for. Tell me, Sansa, do you want to know what gender your baby is?”

Sansa’s eyes whipped over to Dr. Mel’s, who was now smiling at her patient. The screen showed a blob, and it no longer looked like a human. It looked like a… Well, a blob.

To his surprise, Sansa’s eyes darted back to his for a moment, as though he would have an opinion on whether she wanted to know or not. He didn’t really--didn’t know what his opinion would have  _ ever _ been in a situation like that. 

Sansa looked back at the doctor and she nodded weakly. 

“It’s a boy,” said Dr. Mel, with a wide smile on her face. Then she pointed out--sure enough--the small boy parts sitting front-and-center on the screen, clear as day now that they had been pointed out.

The doctor cleaned her up, then said the nurse would be in to discharge her in about an hour, after they had checked in on the baby one more time. Plus Sansa needed time for her body to accept the second bag of fluids that was delivered just after Dr. Mel walked out. 

Sansa didn’t speak to Sandor at all, and had only a few polite words for the nurse who changed the bag.

Just as soon as that nurse closed the door, Sandor sat up straighter, thinking that this was his time to give her a moment alone. 

And he would have, had she not covered her face with both her hands and burst into tears.

~≈~≈~

A boy. Sansa felt like she was going to be sick again. But no, that was just a small part of her heart breaking.

She knew she was being irrational, knew that just because she was having a boy didn't mean she was going to have a little Joffrey, but she couldn't deny the fear that was hovering on the outskirts of her imagination.

A bossy little boy who thought he could push her around. She could picture him as a little boy expecting candy all the time, growing into a preteen who wanted to smoke and go out with his friends, then a teenager who wanted her to fix every mistake he made, to get him into a good school, and to turn the other cheek when he snuck girls into his room.

She cried into her hands, unable to stop herself while knowing Sandor sat in the chair next to the bed, not moving, completely silent. 

It took her a while but she finally managed to calm herself down. She reached for the box of tissues at the side of the bed and was somewhat surprised when he stood to lean over her and get them for her. 

Then he sat again, and his presence suddenly irritated her.

"Enjoy the show?" she asked, though she knew she sounded snooty.

"You wanted a girl that bad?" he shot back, in a similar tone. It raised her hackles. He had no idea what he was talking about, but that didn't stop her anger from rising.

"You shouldn't have called an ambulance. You should have just recognized a faint when you saw one, and given me a moment to wake up."

That seemed to anger him, and when she looked back at him the scowl was back, his brow drawn down over his eyes.

"Wake up? You wanted me to let you wake up? You were unconscious." He spat the word at her, leaning forward slightly for emphasis. "I'm sorry," he said sarcastically, "Next time you collapse in front of me I'll walk away and leave you be, let you wake up in peace." 

He sat back as though he had just won whatever argument they were having, but she wasn't going to let it go. Couldn't let it go, not with the future looming over her so big and dark and uncertain.

"I would have been fine."

"An unconscious pregnant woman is not fine."

"I fainted."

"After vomiting!"

"Because you stunk! To high heaven!"

"I'm a painter, it's my job!" He stood then, pushing the chair angrily back against the wall. "You're impossible, you know that? Arguing with me when you should have been taking better care of yourself and your baby."

Sansa bristled. 

"Don't you dare tell me you know better than me about how to take care of myself."

"I'm not the one forgetting to eat and throwing up and fainting, got that? That's you, all you, and you have only yourself to blame! And if you weren't so pigheaded you'd see it for the truth!" He was walking towards the door now, or stalking, rather, his long strides carrying him there in seconds.

Sansa had heard all she needed to hear.

"Eavesdropping, huh? That's real big of you!" 

He turned on her and growled harshly, "I'll be back in thirty minutes."

"Don't bother! Take your attitude and go somewhere else, you've done enough!!"

At that, he glared at her, and his voice was menacingly quiet when he said, "Then find your own ride home." And with that he shoved the curtain aside, sending it flying as he strode out of the room.

Good riddance, was Sansa's immediate thought, but it faded quickly. 

He had been going to give her a ride home? And he was right--now she'd have to find one. 

She didn't have a chance to dwell on that, or on the unfortunate gender of her baby, because a nurse came in shortly after to go over her discharge instructions. She was also informed that the man who had come to visit her while she was here had settled her bill, and that she would owe nothing.

She didn't know if she should be angry, thankful, or a sobbing mess. So she settled for a combination of the three.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! Well, sort of. I have a tiny bundle of baby boy on my lap and am confined to the couch - Note To Self: take it easy after spitting out a baby; things get sore fast with a little bit of activity... - so I thought I would finally updated this story. 
> 
> For those of you wondering, Baby Boy Doodle was born on Monday weighing a very healthy 8lb, 9oz, and is complete and utter perfection. The labor was long and drawn out, the delivery fast, and the love immediate. I'm so happy I can't put it into words. Though I consider myself now past the child-bearing stage of my life, I have also never felt more complete.
> 
> I may have to sneak a photo or two up on tumblr to brag. And Instagram. And at the beginning of the next chapter, just because. 
> 
> 💙

Sandor heard Sansa enter her apartment about an hour after he got back. He wondered how she’d gotten home, but then resolutely told himself it didn’t matter. She was stubborn, and stupid. Who doesn’t eat when they’re carrying a baby? It was ignorant, is what it was.

She was young and immature, and completely unprepared for the child she was carrying. He told himself he had every right to be irritated at her--not just because she had barged into his home and then thrown up in his toilet, but also because of her lack of self-care. It was deplorable, really.

But even as he thought that, he knew he’d left the door open in case she wanted to follow him in.

And the vomiting had caught him off guard, but it had pointed out to him why she had done it the other day. He knew pregnant women could be sensitive to smells, and when he got off work he was ripe with paint fumes and sweat. It wasn’t even pleasant to his own nose.

But still, there must be a part of her that didn’t like what she saw on his face. He was a scary fucker, and had known this since he started to sprout upwards as a teenager. He just didn’t have it in him to try to be pleasant when he knew people would shy away from him anyway. 

That’s why he’d gotten comfortable here in the apartment building. Everyone knew him, or at least knew of him, and he’d gotten  _ used _ to these people. He knew their reactions to him, what they could tolerate, and the ways in which they dealt with his disfigurement.

But Sansa… Even though it might not have been completely caused by her aversion for his face, the vomiting thing still got to him. It still affected him. It still felt like a physical representation of how for years he had felt people thought of him. As though their looks, stares and glances could have at any moment erupted from their mouths as bile-filled expressions of disgust.

And Sansa had provided the visual, had made that nightmare real.

He didn’t want anything to do with her.

But that  _ baby _ . That was something else. 

When he’d gone into the emergency room, only to find her fuming on the bed, attempting to be polite to the doctor, he had been caught off guard. He thought she would have calmed down by then--not further enraged at the sight of him. But that’s exactly what happened, and to add insult to injury she had made him  _ stay _ , as though she were punishing him for being the jerk who called the medics.

What a piece of work, she was. She’d been so  _ angry _ at him, and he knew it was in part because she’d said she didn’t have the money to cover an ER visit. 

His settling her bill before he left, giving the hospital his credit card information, was just a favor to that unborn baby of hers. Not to her. Never for her. Unappreciative brat.

But there had been that moment--singular, meaning  _ one _ moment--where she had looked at him and he’d seen need in her eyes. He couldn’t imagine what it was like to have someone you didn’t know put their hands all over your junk, especially for a woman. Their junk was on the  _ inside _ , and that doctor was  _ inside _ Sansa. So yeah, he’d held her hand. He hadn’t been able to ignore the look in her eyes when he had initially paused before taking her hand. 

She had needed him.

So he’d taken her small hand in both of his and watched her face as she closed her eyes during the exam, certain that at any moment he was going to see tears slip out from between her lids. 

But they hadn’t, and when the exam was done he realized he was holding tightly to her hand. When she let go, he did as well.

Then-- _ damn _ . That ultrasound. 

There had been a split second of regret when he’d seen it--regret that he was never going to see his child inside a woman’s womb. 

Then the feeling had passed when the doctor pointed out the small boy parts. Regret had disappeared and had been replaced by an odd sort of fascination.

Now, again, he thought on it with wonder. Sansa had a tiny human inside her. If it wasn’t entirely inappropriate for him to pepper her with questions about pregnancy and how she was feeling and how she  _ felt _ about carrying a child, he would have done it. It was all fascinating.

But no, he wouldn’t be doing that. He didn’t want to be friendly with Sansa. He didn’t want to get close to her, just to see her leave or be chased off by Petyr fucking Baelish. And he didn’t want to be around when the child was born and to have to reign in his curiosity over what was happening to her.

She was going to have a boy. Another pang hit his heart unexpectedly, a pang of that damned regret. Wasn’t it every man’s dream to one day have a son? Sandor was no different. But unlike most men, he just knew it wasn’t going to happen for him. And he needed to keep his distance from Sansa, because he could already tell she was going to piss him off every time he saw her.

He wanted to ask her why she’d cried at having a boy, and likely would have asked in the hospital had they not suddenly erupted into a monumental argument. She’d been so unreasonable, so angry with him for calling the medics. And he had been angry with her--for not being smart enough to keep her strength up for the baby.

He felt fresh anger rise up again within him at the thought.

But despite himself, he kept his apartment quiet that night as he listened to her move around, as she resumed her humming. If he sat on the edge of his tub in the bathroom, he could hear her humming in her living room.

It was as he was sitting there, elbows on his knees and hands clasped in front of him, that he remembered the food she’d brought him. And before he knew it, he was standing at her door quietly knocking so as not to disturb their neighbors.

“What do you want,” she said, her words barely a question as she looked up at him, discontent writ all over her face.

She was dressed in a robe, and the way it was tied made her pregnancy seem more obvious. He couldn’t help but look down at her stomach before quickly bringing his eyes back up to hers.

“You need to eat,” he simply said, and because she wasn’t completely able to block the door with her slight frame, he pushed by her and walked into her apartment.

If she wasn’t going to take care of herself tonight, someone had to. 

He recognized all kinds of things that were wrong with him being there and taking on that role, but he steadfastly ignored every single one of them.

Instead he walked through a living room that was a maze of ropes and boxes and packing paper, dowels leaning up against the back of her couch and rolls of colored  masking tape littering the armrests. It was an absolute mess, and he managed to ignore it as he walked into her kitchen, turning the low light on that hovered over the kitchen sink. 

No need to put himself on display, now, was there? She already knew what he looked like.

Her apartment was a direct mirror of his, hence why their bathrooms and bedrooms were right next to each other. So he knew where to go and what to do in order to put the pan of meatballs on her stove, lighting it, and putting the pot of broccoli in front of her microwave.

It was a few moments before he realized she hadn’t followed him. He turned to look at her over the oven’s counter space and saw that she stood at the door, her hand on the doorknob, looking at him with her mouth open.

He had never really explained himself, so he figured he should at least do that.

But first he asked a question.

“Have you eaten since you got back from the hospital?”

She wasn’t fast enough at replacing the look of guilt on her face with one of anger.

“Get out,” she ground out, not moving from her spot. Sandor stood his ground.

“No.” He turned the stove on low and turned to root through her cabinets until he found a plate for her broccoli.

“Get out, or I’m going to call the cops.” Sandor snorted at that. Call the cops on the man who had just paid her thousand-dollar doctor bill? Yeah, as if she’d do that.

“I’ll be out of your hair in a few minutes. You need to eat.”

“I can take care of myself,” she said, but she was closing the door, her empty threat of calling the police seemingly gone. Again, Sandor laughed harshly at her words.

“I think we both know that today, you were not capable of doing that. So I’m going to warm you up a dinner and then I’m going to go.”

He kept toiling around her kitchen--finding a fork for her dinner and stirring the meatballs as they warmed in the pot. He didn’t bother to keep the disapproval out of his tone. She needed to hear it. 

Then he thought about finding a glass, and opened the fridge door to see if there was anything to drink.

“ _ Christ _ ,” he swore, surprised at what he saw. “You have enough food to feed a hundred men but you can't be bothered to feed yourself and your unborn child?”

“Just stop.”

Her suddenly hushed words drew his gaze. Her words had been quiet, and he saw now that she’d turned to walk back to whatever it was she was working on in the living room. She looked… not angry anymore. She looked kind of sad, if he had to be honest.

He watched her as she sat on the edge of the couch, smooth legs tucked under her as she pulled the robe out to cover her knees. Then she pulled a dowel onto her lap and arranged the pieces of rope that were hanging off it, and began tying.

As he watched, her hands moved from left to right, holding two pieces of rope at all times and tying them together. Then, when she’d finished a row, she went back to the beginning and again, worked left to right tying a row.

It was almost as though she had forgotten he was there. He took a moment while she was engrossed in her work to look around.

The apartment was sparsely decorated, but it already looked more lived in than his did. Her couch was in good condition, as was the desk and chair in the corner that was littered with craft supplies. She had a couple wall hangings on the walls, made from rope similar to the one she was working with. 

The dinnerware she had in the cupboards had been mismatched, but the colors all went together. Her kitchen counter was wiped clean and looked as though it hadn’t been used in a few days. There were no dishes in her sink, and he wondered if he opened the dishwasher if he’d find a load there.

A couple sweaters hung by her door, and a few pairs of footwear sat beside it. He recognized the sandals she had worn to the hospital that day.

There wasn't much that said a lot about her, about who she was, other than that damnable craft table in the corner--that is, also except for the stack of CDs next to the small stereo on her kitchen counter.

Steve Miller Band, Big And Rich, something called Pentatonix, a couple movie soundtracks, Jewel, Aerosmith, and Fabulous Fifties.

_ Whoa _ . Eclectic.

Well, she liked her music, that was for sure.

When he looked over at her, hunched over that rope project, he wondered why it was so important to her to work on that when she needed to care for the little one inside her. She baffled him.

He stirred the meatballs until they were warmed through and then put some broccoli on the plate and nuked it. It didn’t take long for him to walk to the dining area and put the single plate on the table, with a tall glass of milk beside it. He knew she saw him do it, so he didn’t bother announcing that it was ready.

She stood, though, and walked to the table, but she didn’t sit down. Instead she watched as he grabbed one more plate and heaped it high with meatballs and broccoli.

“I’ll get this back to you tomorrow,” he said, and he didn’t wait for her to say anything. Instead he ignored her, didn’t even look at her, as he walked over to her door and let himself out.

When he got back to his apartment he sat at his own small dining table and ate the meal he had warmed up for them. It was delicious. No, it was more than delicious. It was the best swedish meatballs he’d ever had. And the sauce tasted fantastic on the broccoli.

But he wasn't going to tell her that. He wasn’t going to compliment her, or say anything nice to her. If she didn’t want to be nice to him, why should he offer her unrequited kindness?

Aside from going over there and warming her up a plate of food, that is. But then,  _ that _ could be construed as just kindness towards the baby, so he was off the hook according to himself.

As he ate, thoughts nagged him, uncertainties that he couldn’t put a name to, except for the main one--that she was sitting at her table eating,  _ hopefully _ , and he was sitting at his, when they might as well have eaten together.

He ignored that thought too, and any implication of what having those kinds of thoughts meant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sandor is such an ass but I love him lol 
> 
> This characterization of him may be my favorite of all my stories.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, a photo of Baby Doodle! He is 11 days old today <3

 

Sansa didn’t leave her apartment for two weeks after that day, except to run to the post office to mail her order. It was gratifying to see the money in her bank account, and she was happy knowing she just might be able to not only support herself and the baby, but also to do it while staying at home.

She hadn’t put a lot of thought into the baby being a boy. She knew at some point she’d have to come up with a name, but she wasn’t ready for that yet.

What she  _ was _ ready for was baby furniture. And that’s how she ended up sitting in her bedroom with her door open, two extremely gay men helping her offload the boxes of baby furniture she’d found at the outlet store and had crammed into her car. Thank goodness the seats folded down, because she wouldn’t have been able to fit everything in if they hadn’t.

Renly and Loras were coming back from a walk, holding hands and talking animatedly about something when she’d pulled into the driveway. 

“Oh my gods,” Loras had whispered, dramatically loud, as Sansa had climbed out of her small car. 

When she looked at him, wondering why he hadn't said any type of greeting, she noticed his eyes were trained on the large box in the backseat of her car, with the giant photo of a crib on it.

“Girl, you are sneaky,” Renly said, smiling. 

He immediately walked over to Sansa and wrapped her in a very masculine bear hug, to which she had to laugh.

“I’m just not talking about it,” she assured him. 

And because Loras was now looking at her stomach avidly, obviously trying to see for himself, she turned to the side and pushed out her belly. “I’m not trying to hide it, either.”

The men both tittered over her like hens, Renly in a slightly more manly way than Loras, and soon she was standing in the hallway outside her apartment as they carted in the boxes--crib, crib mattress, jumper toy, and the Ikea-like dresser she was going to put beside the one she would eventually have for herself.

What started as two friendly men bringing in her boxes, quickly turned into three people having lunch and laughing together as they struggled to figure out which side was up, whether Side A was turned this way or that, or “Loras, what the hell did you do with the allen wrench??”

“Seriously,” Renly was saying, “Never give Loras a task like this to do alone. If you give him a dresser to build, you’ll find a new bookshelf with knobs.” 

Loras laughed, looking slightly embarrassed but also like Reny was telling the absolute truth.

“Ooo, so you’re saying we could turn this into a bookshelf? I need one,” joked Sansa, aiming her words at Loras. 

His blush was cute, but she liked how he looked at Renly adoringly, even as the other man teased him.

She had left them only long enough to make sandwiches with watermelon slices, and they took intermittent bites of their food as they worked to put the furniture together. By the time they realized they’d put together a crib that wouldn’t fit through her bedroom door, it was almost dinner time. Sansa hadn’t laughed so much in… years?

“You guys can figure that out and I’ll fix something for dinner,” she was saying as she left them in the bedroom to decide what to do about it, and she turned to go into the kitchen. 

That’s when she noticed the figure standing by the open door of her apartment. Tall. Dark. Brooding.

“Hello Sandor,” she said, laughter dying on her lips at his arrival. 

He stood where he was, on the threshold barrier that separated her apartment from the community hallway. He looked at her-- _ looked _ at her, from head to toe--and Sansa immediately knew what he was doing.

Irritation pushed away the  _ thank you _ that had been on her lips for that day he had come over to make her dinner. 

He was inspecting her, looking at her to see if she had been taking care of herself. She was sure of it. Someone didn’t look at another person like that unless they were looking  _ for _ something. And he  _ was _ .

“I ate today,” she said snarkily, and even to her it sounded childish. But his brow drew down over his eyes and he offered nothing other than a brisk nod before disappearing. 

He had looked much the same as she’d seen him that first day with Petyr--paint clothes covered in splatter and different colors of paint, carrying his toolbag with tiny splatters of paint at the edges of his face. Even on his scar, and she wondered for a moment if it was sensitive when he tried to get the paint off the marred skin.

She quickly caught herself--she should have no concern for him. Despite the way he’d warmed up dinner and made sure she was fed, he still seemed bent on meddling in her business. Calling the medics, making her dinner, even  _ paying her bill _ \--which she still had yet to thank him for, damnit--irked her. 

And now he was inspecting her as though she were cattle, a heifer who needed proper feeding before she gave birth.

_ The nerve _ of that man, she thought as she walked over to the door to close it. She caught the faint whiff of paint, but it only turned her stomach slightly. She figured if he’d still been standing there, she would have thrown up all over him. 

And he would have deserved it.

She made another quick dinner of shrimp scampi and zucchini noodles, one of her favorite dishes, to which Renly demanded the recipe. They were sitting around the dining table, Renly and Loras having figured out that if they took off one side of the crib, they could pivot it into the room and put it in the corner beside her bed, just on the other side of her secondhand night stand.

“Who was that at the door?” Loras asked, slurping up noodles loudly. Sansa laughed at how innocent he looked as he did it.

“Sandor,” she said, and she wrinkled her nose before she could help it. But Renly caught it.

“Do you have a problem with him?” the man asked. He looked concerned, so Sansa shook her head.

“No, not really,” she admitted, and it was true. As long as Sandor kept his distance, they were fine. “We just clash, is all. He called an ambulance the one time I fainted, and then he seems to think like he needs to check on me, now that he knew  _ for one day _ I was so busy that I forgot to eat.”

Renly nodded understandingly, but Loras’s face was full of worry. “You fainted?! Where were we??” 

Sansa smiled at him, touched by his concern. 

“I don’t know, but they came and took me, and I only woke up when it was too late to tell them to go away.”

“What were you doing that you forgot to eat?” Renly scooped a shrimp off his plate and put it into his mouth. The room was filled with the scent of garlic and seafood, and Sansa felt that this might be the most pleasant meal she’d had to date in her new apartment.

“Working,” she supplied as she shovelled a big bite into her mouth, also hoping to get them off the subject of Sandor. She didn’t want to talk about him. She put her fork down and stood, her small belly brushing the table as she got up. Then she went over to her craft table and picked up a rather intricate door curtain she’d been working on for a custom order. This one featured glass beads in green and purple, with a light purple rope she’d ordered online. 

“Oh my gosh, that’s beautiful!” Sansa beamed at Loras’s compliment.

“Yes,” agreed Renly, “It’s very pretty. Do you make these?” He reached over to feel it where she stood, and appeared to check the drape of the rope and its smoothness. 

Sansa nodded. “I sell them online. It’s where my income has been coming from, though I’m trying to branch out into other things as well.” She motioned for the two wall hangings she had made. “I’d like to go to the beach soon to look for driftwood and make some hanging from that. They look nice, I just haven’t been yet.”

“Are they custom orders? Because if so, I’d like to buy one from you. Renly, wouldn’t that look great in the door to our bedroom?”

Renly looked at Loras with eyes that said  _ Anything for you _ , and Sansa almost blushed. Loras actually did, his cheeks turning pink as he looked back at his fiance.

It was shortly after that, after discussing colors and what she could or couldn't do with her designs, that they settled on white rope with red and gold beads, and then the men took their leave, insisting they take all of her trash as well. 

But before she’d had a chance to open the door, Renly turned to her and gave her a hug, which was only a little bit awkward for Sansa. No one touched her now, and it was odd coming into physical contact with someone who didn’t want to get in her pants, like Petyr, or who wasn’t her family.

“You tell us if you have any problems with Sandor, okay?” He pulled away, setting her apart from him as Loras came up beside him from tying his own shoes. 

“Oh, I don’t think I’ll have any problems. We’re keeping away from each other. He doesn’t seem to like me very much.”

Renly and Loras exchanged a look but they didn’t explain it. Instead Loras smiled at her.

“Sandor has been here forever, and he knows everyone. He tends to stay by himself, and doesn’t even come out for barbeques. So if you’ve seen him, that big lug might actually be coming out of his shell.”

“Big lug?” she asked, smirking at the moniker. Renly smiled.

“He’s a nice guy. Just quiet, perhaps misunderstood. And boy does he blush when we call him sexy.”

Sansa clapped a hand to her mouth as she laughed, eyes wide at what he was saying. 

“You  _ tease _ him??”

“Every chance we get, honey,” said Loras, kissing her cheek before walking out the door.

They parted ways and Sansa shut the door behind her, wanting to laugh at the picture of Sandor blushing at Renly and Loras. 

It was too funny, and when she cleared away the dishes from dinner and put on music on her kitchen radio to work to, she chose her Fabulous Fifties CD, now wanting to work to something upbeat and happy.

~≈~≈~

Five and a half months, Sandor thought as Sansa unfolded her lithe form from the small car. Her belly was protruding more since the last time he’d seen her, and he remembered what the doctor had said a month ago at the hospital.

She’s be five and a half months along now. He wondered what the baby looked like.

It was a hot day in the middle of May, and he was outside mowing the grass for the first time this summer. He wore noise-cancelling ear muffs, and he knew his shirt was soaked with sweat, the stains showing up dark on the dark gray fabric. He had wondered if he had anything else to wear other than black sweatpants, but by the time he’d gotten everything out of the shed and had started the mower, he didn’t want to go back inside to change.

He was almost halfway done with the front lawn, and after that would move onto the lawn at the sides of the building, and then finally the back. But as he watched, Sansa opened the back hatch of her car and lifted out a box.

It was big, and by the way she was straining, he knew it was heavy.

_ Damn woman _ , he thought. She was going to hurt herself, or the baby. 

He instantly shut off the mower and hooked the muffs on the handle before stalking over to where she was bending over-- _ at the waist! Didn’t she know  _ any _ thing?? _ \--to put the box on the ground so she could close the hatch.

When she stood he was already in front of her, and she jumped back, startled.

“Oh, Sandor,” she said, a little breathless from her exertion, hand over her heart. Her expression was otherwise neutral, and he basked for a moment in the way her eyes rested on his face without animosity in them. 

She wore a t-shirt today over a skirt that loosely flowed around her knees. She looked like a Sunday school teacher, all pert breasts and burgeoning stomach. He tried not to notice the curves, and failed.

“You’re bending wrong when you lift that box,” he grumbled. “I’ll carry it for you.”

_ That _ brought out the familiar animosity. If she’d had hackles, he was sure they would have risen. 

“No,” she said forcefully, “I can do for myself, thank you very much.” But she wasn’t thankful, if her tone was any indication. He ignored her.

“Bend at the knees,” he said, demonstrating as he picked up the box. “Holy hells, woman, this is heavy. What’s in here?” It felt like it weighed thirty pounds.

“It’s really none of your business, is it, Sandor. Now put my box down and leave me alone.”

“You just can’t take anyone’s help, can you?” He turned his back to her and walked towards the building. She was going to hurt herself lifting something like this. 

He heard the hatch of her car slam shut and the shuffle of her feet as she came up behind him.

“Just your’s.”  _ Ouch _ . “You meddle, you know that? Why can’t you mind your own business?”

“Why can’t you take care of you and that baby?” He didn’t bother turning around, but he heard her feminine huff of irritation at his words.

“I  _ am _ taking care of us, you big brute! Now put my stuff down!” She came up beside him, her red braid swinging over her shoulder as she turned towards him. Her eyes were looking up at him and he had to remind himself not to stare into those clear blue depths.

“Open the door,” he said gruffly, and then inwardly chided himself. No need to be  _ completely _ heartless. “Please.”

She looked like she was going to refuse--standing there with her hands on her hips and her cheeks tinged red. She even took a breath as though she was about to let loose a string of refusals, but then thought better of it and let out the breath in a rush of air.

“You’re impossible.” 

But she yanked open the door after showing the scanner her key card, and held it open as he passed.

“No,” he grumbled, unable to stop himself from arguing with her, “ _ You’re _ impossible.” But he walked over to her door and waited, showing her he wasn’t just going to put it down and let her carry it into her apartment.

Her belly was noticeable, being a couple inches pushed out past where her normal, not-pregnant stomach likely was. And she was slender, though he could see when she looked up to glare at him that there were no bags under her eyes and she didn’t look tired. She also looked healthy, more healthy than what he’d seen the last few times she was in his presence. It was almost as though pregnancy  _ agreed _ with her now.

She preceded him into the apartment but held onto the door, obviously not welcoming him to stay. Not that he’d want to, but… It would have been polite.

“Where do you want the box?”

“In front of the couch.”

He put it down where she told him to--bending at the  _ knees _ \--and walked back over to her, but he didn’t leave. He stood in front of her and waited until she looked up at him. Her nostrils flared and she inhaled, and he realized he was waiting for a physical reaction, some measure of disgust that he was sure he’d see in her face, her body language. He didn’t bother to hide his face from her, nor to stand away from her so that she wouldn’t have to smell him--all cut grass and sweat. 

She didn’t appear nauseous, but she did swallow and blink slowly, her eyes darting down to his lips and back to his eyes. Sandor caught himself doing the same thing, before his eyes met hers again.

Why did she have to be so damned beautiful?

She closed her eyes again, blinking longer this time, as she drew what appeared to be a fortifying breath. When she opened them, her lips parted and she spoke almost robotically.

“Thank you for paying that bill. That was unnecessary.”

Sandor crossed his arms over his chest, making it appear they stood closer than what they had before he’d done it. She stepped back, but the door was behind her. A hand came up to rest on the roundness of her stomach.

“It wasn’t unnecessary,” he said with a shake of his head, his voice softer than he’d intended it to be. “I called them, and you were worried about paying, so I did what I thought was best.”

Her eyes widened slightly, and he knew he’d touched a nerve as soon as her hands dropped to her side.

“You always do what  _ you _ think is best, don’t you?” She said the word like it tasted bitter in her mouth, but she had hit one of  _ his _ nerves. He leaned down close, only moderately surprised she didn’t back down.

“When a pregnant woman refuses to take care of herself, yes, I like to think I’ll step in every damned time she makes a stupid decision.”

Anger flashed through her eyes, darkening them.

“Carrying a box,” she ground out, inching closer to his face in a show of bravado, “is  _ not _ a stupid decision.”

Sandor could smell her, a mix of citrus and spices this time, as though she bathed with lemon slices and cinnamon sticks. An image of her in the tub flashed through his mind, and it made him angrier that he was attracted to this woman who drove him mad.

“It is when you could strain yourself and put the baby in danger!”

“I am  _ not _ putting my baby in danger!”

“And if you fell while carrying that box? How would that have made you feel? You could have hurt both of you!”

“Why does it matter to you?!”

He didn’t have a chance to answer, as her eyes suddenly widened before dropping to her stomach, and she fell back against the door as both hands raised to her belly. Her breath whooshed out of her lungs, and Sandor thought for a moment he’d pushed her into early labor.

And of course he did  _ not _ know what that was, because he had  _ not _ looked up the stages of pregnancy on his computer.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For all of you who have assumed I'm some sort of supermom with three kids and an infant who still finds time to bang out these chapters...
> 
> I'm not. 
> 
> The fic is finished. I don't post unfinished fics! So it's written, edited by the lovely LadyCleganeofTheNorth, and ready to be posted. 
> 
> I'm not supermom, just an anal retentive writer who can't stand the pressure of an unfinished story. 
> 
> FYI, I have another finished Sansan, my longest one yet, that needs some reworking but will hopefully follow The Damnedest Thing! Yay!
> 
> My kids aren't neglected and the baby is fed, and hopefully I'm making you guys happy with my random postings <3 lol

“What is it? What’s wrong?” 

Sandor put his hands out as though he was going to put them on her shoulders, but stopped himself. He felt panic rise in his throat, near choking him.  _ Oh gods, _ if something happened to her or the baby because of him, he didn’t know how he could live with himself.

“Uh, nothing, um... “ Sansa shook her head, but then glanced up at him before looking back at her hands on her stomach. “He just kicked, and I haven’t felt him move so strongly.” His hands fell to his sides, though what he really wanted to do was ask if he’d be able to feel it from the outside.  _ Fucking hells _ .

But then, maybe the baby boy had kicked because he was arguing with his mother? Sandor stepped away suddenly, backwards until he realized there was a shoe mat behind him and he had to choose either left or right to escape the closeness he had created between them. He chose left, out the door, but he turned to look at her where she still rested back against the open door.

“Just, uh,” he stammered, inching back and to the side where the front door stood not eight feet away. But he had nothing else to say. Sansa was standing there, hand on her stomach, looking at him with nothing but tense wonder on her face, replacing the anger and frustration of a moment earlier.

Those lips, that skin, eyes, hair, body--the entire package. Even the bump of baby that was pushing out the front of her t-shirt. Gods, she was gorgeous, and he had to get out of there before he did or said something to embarrass himself.

He turned and strode for the front door, passing the women from the upstairs apartment as they were coming in.

They gave him a wide berth but mumbled their hello’s, the tall blonde woman saying it more loudly than the other two, as though pointing out that they didn’t need to be timid around him. He  _ almost _ smiled at her--Brienne, he remembered, the one Tormund spoke about sometimes.

He heard them greeting Sansa as the door closed behind him, and he walked back to where he had left the mower.

~≈~≈~

Sansa was stunned. Her mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, and to make matters worse, she was suddenly confronted with two very social women and one who seemed to just tag along wherever the two went. 

“Daenerys, Margaery, Brienne,” she said by way of greeting, smiling at them from her open door.

“Hi! Was that Sandor you were just talking to?” Margaery seemed the nosiest of the three, and Sansa thought she and Sandor might get along.

“Yes, he was just… helping me, with a box I was carrying.” And she knew it was true, despite their arguing and bickering. He was nosy and meddling and presumptuous, and sometimes downright insulting, but beneath everything seemed to run an undercurrent of desire to help, which she was only just beginning to realize.

It was unfortunate that he went about it in such an overbearing, macho, in-your-face way.

The ladies tittered about their plans for the day and somehow ended up on her couch discussing her now well-known pregnancy--Brienne taking the floor, sitting cross legged a short distance from them--with glasses of lemonade. It was refreshing to Sansa, but she wasn’t really in the mood for company. She was distracted by the big man that occasionally passed by her front window in ever-shortening distances.

And she was hungry, and she had the sinking suspicion that as soon as the ladies left, she was going to make lunch for her  _ and _ him, to properly thank him for paying that bill. It was the least she could do, as well as to thank him for carrying in her box, which she had  _ not _ asked him to do.

_ Gods _ , he was incorrigible.

“Sansa, earth to Sansa,” Daenerys was saying, and Sansa turned away from the window to look at her neighbor, who then gave the other two neighbors a knowing look. “What?” Sansa asked, though she knew she’d been caught.

“So,” said Brienne, a smile playing at her thin lips. The woman was huge, only half a head shorter than Sandor and of the same height with Tormund. It was odd to see her looking at Sansa like that, with a smirk on her face. “Sandor, huh?”

Sansa’s mouth fell open as she dragged over a dining chair to the carpet. 

“What? No, no--what? No, he carried in a box for me, that’s all.”

Margaery snickered, sending Sansa a scandalized look. 

“You know he’s like forty, right?” Daenerys smiled, but her look was kinder than Margaery’s, softer as well. 

“And you’re…” Even Brienne was waiting to hear.

“Twenty-four,” Sansa said quietly, though she didn’t know why they were drawing the connection between her’s and Sandor’s ages. Nothing was happening between them.  _ Nothing _ . The man infuriated her, and she was pretty sure she was the last person he’d ever see himself with.

“But what does that have to do with anything? The man’s a beast! He’s irritating and pushy, and he annoys the heck out of me.”

Brienne rolled her eyes. “So is Tormund, but that doesn’t stop me from wondering what he looks like naked.” 

Sansa’s mouth dropped open and she heard the mower come close. The other three women erupted into fits of laughter as her gaze darted out to the man who was passing by her window once again, even closer this time.

_ No _ , she wasn’t going to think that. She turned back to the women.

Probably muscular, she thought with a blush.

“Ladies, if you’ll excuse me, I was about to make my lunch.”

And hairy, if that pelt coming out of front of his collar was any indication.

“And I have some work to do this afternoon, so if you wouldn’t mind…?”

And big-- _ tall _ . Not… Not big  _ that  _ way. Tall and muscular and hairy.

And  _ big _ .

Sansa refused to look out that window again while the women stood to leave.

“We were going to stop by to see you anyway,” Daenerys was saying, hooking her arm through Sansa’s as the foursome walked towards the door of her apartment. “We’re going to have a dinner, just us girls, tomorrow night in the backyard. Would you like to join us?”

It did sound nice, Sansa conceded. She was caught up on custom orders and hadn’t done anything fun since that initial barbeque, and she used the term  _ fun _ loosely for that gathering.  _ Fun _ and  _ Petyr Baelish _ were not synonymous in her mind.

“I’d like that. I’ll bring something to share,” she said, and the women said their goodbyes.

After Sansa had closed the door, though, she turned back to the window. 

That  _ man _ . The word was a growl in her mind as he walked by the window. 

But she was seeing him in a different light now, and not necessarily a welcomed one. Why,  _ oh why _ , had the ladies felt it necessary to point out in their own way the attraction Sansa was beginning to feel for him? She could have rested easily letting that one remain back in its cave in the darkest recesses of her mind.

It irked her, that she would be attracted to someone who annoyed her so much. But she guessed she couldn’t really deny it.

Earlier, when he’d been sweaty and had grass bits stuck to his clothing, she’d expected to feel the nausea and impending vomiting session begin their ascent on her day, but there had been something else instead--an awareness of him, of his body and his manliness, as though he was emitting pheromones that her body was suddenly in tune with.

He ruffled her feathers, there was no doubt about it. But as he passed the window, even from the other side of the apartment she could see the way the t-shirt sleeves wrapped tightly over his arms, the way his biceps and forearms bulged with muscle as he worked to control the mower. 

The fabric, wet with his sweat, encased his broad shoulders like a second skin as his long hair swayed with his steps.

_ Damn _ . 

Yes, damn him for being there, for living there, and now for being so desirable despite the ugly scars that ruined one side of his scalp and the ugliness with which he treated her. 

Though, even as she thought the thought, she knew two things.

That for one, he was kind. In his own way. In a  _ I am man, hear me roar _ kind of way.

And two, the scars didn’t really bother her. The more she saw them, the more they just seemed an extension of him, and less like the hideous disfigurement she had imagined them to be in the beginning. 

They didn’t detract from the handsomeness of him as a man, which made her angrier, so she distracted herself by whipping up a big grilled chicken salad, and waited for him to finish his chore.

~≈~≈~

Sandor was surprised to see Sansa waiting at her door, again, when he came inside. He was a mess--sweaty, bits of grass in his hair and on his clothes, and he was pretty sure he stunk to high heaven. So when she held out a big bowl of salad, he grouched that he needed a shower and that he’d be back in a few minutes. He’d looked away, but not before seeing that now familiar flash of anger in her eyes.

Did everything he did annoy her? Anger her? Though he supposed it probably did, since nearly everything she did irritated the hell out of him.

He stripped and showered fast, pulling on a clean t-shirt and sweatpants. No need to dress up for her--she was still wearing that pretty skirt and matching t-shirt. 

Though he pulled on socks, he eschewed shoes as he went from his apartment to hers, her door hanging wide open.

“You should shut your door,” he groused as he walked in, already feeling somewhat comfortable in her home as he’d been in there several times. She was sitting at the dining table, the bowl of salad in the middle of two plates on either side.

That brought him up short--she was going to eat a meal with him?

“You should mind your own business,” she said, eyes going from the kitchen window back to him where he stood, at the edge of her couch. There was challenge in them, and he bristled at it.

But then she was motioning for him to take a seat, which he did, and she stood to get two cups down from the cabinet.

“I just wanted to thank you for… for carrying the box, and again for paying the hospital bill.”

“Do you like to cook?” he asked, effectively ignoring her thank you. He knew she didn’t want to thank him, and he didn’t want to hear her words. Didn’t want them to mean anything to him.

The question seemed to catch her off guard, as she paused before answering, glass in hand in front of her. But then she quickly recovered, and she filled two with water before returning to the table.

“I do, actually.” She didn’t smile. Neither did he. This was probably as uncomfortable for her as it was for him. 

“You’re awfully thin for someone who likes to cook.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t say I liked to cook junk, now, did I?” Her snarky remark came from a lowered face as she used tongs to lift a hefty helping of salad onto her plate. She dug around until she found a few pieces of chicken, and then handed him the tongs.

His fingers brushed hers as the tongs switched hands, and he tried not to let it show that it affected him. 

But it did, and it came out as critical words.

“Is it safe for the baby for you to be so thin?”

Sansa’s fork had been poised and ready to stab the lettuce leaves, but now she gripped it in her hand like she was ready to jab it in his eye. 

She looked at him, her lips pursed, and he thought he saw something soften in her eyes, though just a hint. 

As though she’d been on the verge of murdering him and now had chosen to just skewer him with her most withering look.

“My doctor says I am perfectly healthy, and that the baby is healthy. She says, and I quote, ‘Keep doing what you’re doing.’” 

“Are you able to pay for a doctor?”

He thought she might wear down her teeth to smooth, with the way she was grinding them just then.

“There are special insurances for pregnant women. I am now on one of them.”

“And after the baby is born?”

This time the fork just slammed down onto the table.

“What is  _ with _ you? Why does it  _ matter _ to you so much, what happens to me?”

Sandor paused and chewed, not bothering to look at her. He couldn’t help it. He was irritated again. Here she was, pregnant and rail thin, and she was eating a plate of lettuce. 

Okay, she wasn’t exactly rail thin. She had curves--hips, butt, that slope of her waist and those high breasts beneath her t-shirt. Even her arms seemed more smooth and soft than thin and bony. But he looked at her, swallowing his mouthful of salad--she must have made her own dressing, it was lemony and delicious--as he watched the muscles in her cheek work.

_ Grind, grind, grind _ , he thought. Then he felt himself grind his own teeth. Damn her, he didn’t need this in his life.

“You should be eating meat, and cheese,” he grunted. He took a swallow of water to wash down the salad as she sputtered, but continued, “Look at your arms. It’s no wonder you were having such trouble with that box.”

“ _ What?? _ ”

She had nearly yelled it, and he was beginning to feel indignant. He was just looking out for her.

“To put some meat on your bones,” he explained, his own voice raising. “How do you expect that child to gain any weight when you eat like a bird? Look at this!” He poked at his plate, not really goading her on purpose but trying to prove his point. “Where’s the protein? Oh, look, there’s one,” he singled out a piece of chicken, and then dug into it again, “And here’s one more! Where’s the fat? The carbs? The calories you need?”

Sansa stood, her belly nearly at eye level with him so he was forced to raise his face to look at her. The anger there mirrored what he felt on his own.

“What do you know about pregnant women and babies? You’ve never been pregnant, I imagine, nor does it seem like you have it in you to ever father a child, you--you--you big  _ ass! _ ” 

That got him standing. His hands were clenching, though it was more so that he didn’t grab her and shake some sense into her than out of anger.

“I know what it looks like when a woman is more concerned about staying thin and pretty--” he threw up a hand to encompass all of her, “--than eating for two and gaining some weight to help the baby she’s carrying!” 

She stepped closer, actually looking as though she wanted to hit him, she was so mad. 

He kept going, “And I have had plenty of opportunity to father children, and I just might, if I ever find a woman who isn’t so stubborn that she puts herself above her child!” Which wasn’t quite true--he couldn’t ever really imagine passing on Clegane genes to the next generation, but those were thoughts for another day.

“You think that’s what I’m doing?” She was standing so close that he  _ could _ have grabbed her shoulders and shook her, but all she was doing was making himself shake. “You think I’m being so stubborn that I’m putting myself above my child?? I have been working long hours to put this food on my table, to pay for my rent, and to pay for doctor bills that were hitting my door long before you showed up, mister, so no--you do  _ not _ know what you’re talking about.” 

The anger in her eyes made them blaze at him. She was so close he could see her pupils were large, her chest was heaving, and that belly was just sticking out, right at him.

He was furious, mostly at himself for feeling the pull of attraction at this woman who boiled his blood. And he wasn’t hesitant to take it out on her.

“Use some of that money to buy meat, and do what’s right for that baby,” he growled.

Then she poked him.  _ Hard _ . Right in the chest.

“Get… out…” Her hand dropped, and her other came to rest on her stomach. Panic fluttered through his chest as he suddenly remembered their last argument, where it seemed like their angry words had upset the baby inside her. He didn’t want that to happen again.

As his eyes went back and forth to the hand sitting on her stomach, the anger drained from him.  _ What am I doing _ ? Arguing with a pregnant woman. At least she’s eating  _ something _ , despite it not being the more calorie-dense food she should be eating.

No, this argument was over. He needed to go, needed to get away before they both said or did something they regretted. His chest ached where she’d poked him, but he ignored it.

He turned and stalked out of her apartment, shutting the door on his way out.

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I find myself at the computer and can update the story right now, without having to worry about feeding a baby or a puppy or three older kids or a husband, or any number of other household duties constantly pulling at me from all directions <3
> 
> Thank you for all the love, guys!

_ What. The. Hell _ . Sansa was left standing beside the table, two half-eaten plates of salad sitting where they’d left them.

Why did their--not friendship, but…  _ whatever _ it was--why did it have to be so volatile? Why couldn’t she just speak to him like a normal person? Why did he have to enrage her? Be so pushy and domineering? Where did he get off thinking he’d have  _ any _ authority in her life? And all that advice about how to eat while pregnant. 

He wasn’t an obstetrician!

She’d tolerated him butting into her finances because she was the one who first mentioned to him that she didn’t have insurance. Well, she’d fixed that now, but not before he’d stepped in and paid an enormous emergency room bill. So yeah, she’d give him that.

But still, he was so aggressive about her own regard for her baby, as though she wasn’t being responsible enough to eat in a way that was healthy for both her  _ and _ the baby. 

She had eaten a  _ burger _ , for crying out loud, at that barbeque he hadn’t bothered going to. He would have seen that had he been there. 

There was a thought that bugged her, though, even as she ate the remainder of her salad, dumped his back into the bowl and put everything away. She thought about it as she got ready for bed that night, brushing her teeth, piling her hair up on top of her head in a messy bun that wouldn’t allow her hair to wrap around her neck in the middle of the night like a scarf. 

And she thought about it after she’d stripped down to her panties and stood in front of the mirror in her bedroom before pulling on her nightgown. 

She turned sideways, noting how the bump had gotten bigger. The flare started just beneath her breasts and was now one, big, rounded curve to where it disappeared into her panties. Watching, she rubbed her hands over it, feeling it, and also feeling the love for the baby that had grown over the last month.

She did indeed love the baby, despite not knowing what the future held. She was still anxious, and incredibly worried that somehow Joffrey’s meanness and disregard for other people would be passed down through his DNA.

But she was also confident--despite anything and everything Sandor had ever said about her parenting--that she was going to be a good mom. She was going to do right by this baby.

And as she looked at herself now, at the way her breasts had gotten a bit larger, how when she turned sideways she looked a bit swaybacked compared to before she’d gotten pregnant, and how her skin seemed more clear and smooth since finding out, she also thought on what Sandor had said.

_ He thinks I’m pretty _ . He had said it, and she had latched onto that as the single nicest thing he’d ever said to her. 

Well, he hadn’t quite said it  _ to _ her, so much as thrown it  _ at _ her during the argument. But still.  _ Pretty _ .

She told herself that wasn’t why she started taking extra care in her appearance. She’d gone out and bought some maternity tops, a couple dresses for the hot summer, a peasant top she planned on wearing at the next barbeque Davos had come down to inform her about. 

She had also taken to combing out her hair and wearing it down, rather than always slapping it into a ponytail or leaving it in a thick braid hanging down her back. 

It wasn’t for him--she insisted to herself that she just felt like looking nice, that she’d sold some wall hangings and, despite working long hours to get them done, the money that was coming in was worth it. And dressing nice and looking nice was her way of treating herself.

But she didn’t see him for a month. She heard him in his apartment, would rush out of her bathroom every time she heard that damnable toilet seat hit the back of his toilet, and a few times she had even woken in the night and had listened to his soft snores through the thin wall. But that was it. He seemed to stagger the times he left for work and the times he came home, so that she never ran into him in the hallway, or saw him leave for work in that massive truck of his.

So when Davos came down to tell her the barbeque he’d told her about was going to start in about an hour, Sansa hadn’t wanted to explain to herself why she chose the maternity top that had ruched, gathered fabric encasing her breasts, showing the slightest amount of cleavage, and the loose fabric that fell over her budding belly in flowing folds of burgundy fabric. 

All she knew was that, when she walked over to knock on Sandor’s door, knowing he was home, she wanted him to see her the way she felt--healthy, with a good amount of vigor, and embracing her pregnancy bloom like it was something she was born to do.

Because she was, after all, born to do it. She felt that way now--that she was made for being a mom. Despite her insecurities and worry, she felt alive and vibrant and special for carrying this little life inside of her. 

And if she didn’t get a chance to tell Sandor that, she at least wanted to  _ show _ him.

Her last obstetrician appointment had gone well. Both her and the baby had perfect health scores, and her OB, Dr. Osha, had told her now was the time to start planning the birth. She hadn’t done that yet, but she was going to. She had less than three months left, and she wanted to enjoy them, and part of enjoying them was having a good plan in place.

Part of that plan was being on good terms with her neighbor, and she aimed to get that started tonight by inviting him to the barbeque with her.

He answered after a moment, and Sansa stood back, wondering if he was looking out the peephole in his door at her. 

She hadn’t known what to expect when he answered the door, but to see him standing there in jeans and a tank top was not one of them.

She felt her eyebrows go up, and words failed her.

He had brushed his hair so it fell in soft waves to his shoulders, some of it combed over the top to fall in front of his scars. But it looked clean and soft, and it framed his face and made him look less intimidating.

His beard was trimmed as well, and she liked how he didn’t bother to hide the gray flecks throughout that belied the darkness of his hair. And those eyes-- _ gods _ , how could they be so deep and dark and intense, being just gray? Gray was such a boring color, so dull and drab, but as the color of his eyes they struck her as the most handsome eyes she had ever seen, despite one of them being overshadowed by scar tissue. It just somehow added to his appeal.

The tank top was black and tight, and it showed off muscled shoulders she’d never seen before, but arms she was fairly familiar with. Her eyes wandered down to his narrow waist, over his clean jeans to the black boots he wore, and then back up to his face.

_ Goodness _ . She had wanted to fluster him, not the other way around, and he had succeeded in flustering her, that was for damn sure.

“Sandor,” she stammered, momentarily forgetting why she was there and why he was here. Then she remembered, “Are you coming to the barbeque?”

He  _ was _ old, just as Margaery and the ladies had said, but not so old that she didn’t suddenly find him incredibly, almost unfairly attractive. But no, it wasn’t all that sudden, was it? She’d seen something in him from that very first day, something in his face that had drawn her. 

And there he stood, hands in the pockets of his jeans, staring down at her from his great height, not saying a single word.

This brought her out of her trance, and she narrowed her eyes at him. Was he going to start something? Was he going to argue with her?

But then his eyes followed a similar path that hers did, down to her lips, her neck and breasts, across the expanse of her stomach, and taking in the blue jeans and gold sandals she wore before reversing their path. His gaze rested on her belly for a moment longer, then darted back up to her eyes, noticeably avoiding looking at her breasts again. 

She almost smirked, but thought better of it.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” he said, his voice a low rasp that unaccountably gave her goosebumps. She merely nodded, though her eyes narrowed at his tone. It was almost… expectant.

She turned to return to her apartment just long enough to grab the tray of cookies and the ham rolls she’d made, then came back out to lock her door and tuck her key in her pocket. 

Much to her surprise, Sandor was there waiting for her. He was carrying a store-bought container of potato salad. 

He was different, though. What had changed in the month since she’d seen him? He had no malice on his face, no inclination to argue. He was uncharacteristically silent as he took the tray from her, leaving her to carry just the platter of ham rolls. She gave up the tray willingly, looking at him sideways to see if she could figure out what was going on.

There were no other sounds from the apartment building, no movement up on the landing where the other apartments all had doors off of, and so they walked back towards the backyard, Sandor leading the way.

Even his butt looked good in jeans, she thought. 

Then he turned abruptly and caught her looking, and her face flamed like never before.

Was that a  _ smirk _ she saw on his face?? Her embarrassment was nearly overshadowed by shock at seeing him actually smile, just the faintest raising of the corner of his mouth, but it was  _ there _ !

She wanted to cover up her blunder with a joke, so she said, “You clean up nice, Clegane,” but it came out breathy, as though she was letting on that his physical appearance did in fact affect her.  _ Damn it _ . The smirk widened as he pushed open the door for her, and she walked out onto the back deck, past him, noting that--miracle of miracles, was that  _ cologne _ ??

Suddenly a cacophony of voices rang out from around her.

“CONGRATULATIONS!!” 

Sansa fainted.

~≈~≈~

“ _ Gods _ , damn it,” muttered Sandor, letting the door slam shut behind him as he put down the food and went to Sansa, who now laid in Tormund’s arms. The big ginger had barely made it to her as she’d slumped, and his big arms were wrapped around her--his forearm touching her breasts--making Sandor want to growl at him. 

But he didn’t want anyone to know how she affected him, so he let it go outwardly, while inwardly he seethed. 

And inwardly he also cringed.  _ How the hell did this happen _ ? How did he get to the point that his possessiveness over her would overshadow his concern for her wellbeing?

“She needs water!” he said, though he wasn’t sure if anyone was going to listen, so he got up as Tormund walked over to a lounge chair and lowered Sansa into it.

Every tenant was there from the building, including Baelish who was now crouching beside Sansa, reaching out as though he was going to touch her face.

But Sandor was there, pushing Tormund out of the way so he could bat Petyr’s hand away.

“Don’t fucking touch her, Baelish,” he muttered, sending a scathing glance at the smaller man before reaching out himself to pat Sansa’s cheek. Her eyelids fluttered, and he was there, hovering above her as she opened her eyes.

“Sandor,” she said, and she smiled.

_ Smiled _ .

He thought his heart stopped.

But then she seemed to remember what was going on, and her face fell, a hand coming up to touch her stomach protectively. 

“I fainted again, didn’t I?” Sandor nodded, and urged her to sit so she could take the bottle of cool water from him. She did and their fingers brushed, though he didn’t think it affected her as much as it affected him.

He didn’t like seeing her like that--collapsed, unconscious, even if it were just for a few moments. But he’d much rather see her in Tormund’s arms, knowing that guy’s obsession with Brienne, than in Baelish’s. Tormund was standing off to the side, beside Brienne, while Baelish was hovering just out of sight.

_ The creepy bastard _ .

“How do you feel? Do you need to go lay down?” Sandor reached out and pressed the backs of his fingers against her forehead and her eyes came up to meet his, momentary shock glistening from their depths. But she shook her head and his hand dropped, not feeling any excessive warmth from her skin.

“No, I’m okay,” she said, taking another sip of water. “Thank you for this.” She lifted the bottle to show him what for. He merely nodded as she looked around at the crowd gathered.

Her smile came back then, and though she did seem a bit tired, she smiled at each and every one of them in turn, even Baelish, though her smile for him was noticeably weaker than the rest.

Sandor only left her side after that to get her a plate of food, and after getting one for himself, he took up residence on the edge of the lounge next to the one she was laying on, seemingly happy to not have to move. Her belly was bigger than the last time he’d seen her, and despite fainting, her skin seemed to glow. She also looked happy, and she joked with Davos about their matching bellies.

She rested her plate on her own now, which Sam laughed at, because he said Gilly did that with every pregnancy.

“When she finally reached the point where her belly was as big as mine she found out why  _ I _ like to do it,” he said, and the others there laughed, including Sansa. But Sandor was on edge. He couldn’t join in with their frivolity. He was not convinced Sansa didn’t need rest.

After they’d eaten and everyone had come to say hello to Sansa, the ladies started gathering chairs and Tormund and Sam brought over a table where all the gifts had been placed.

“Oh my goodness, you guys--you didn’t have to do this!” Sansa covered her mouth with one of her hands, a look of surprise crossing her face as one by one, gifts were brought to her. It started with Sam and Gilly’s gift basket, an impressive gift if ever Sandor had seen one.

One by one Sansa lifted the items from the basket, and Sandor paid close attention to what they were--diaper rash cream, “With zinc oxide, the only kind we use,” assured Gilly; a baby toothbrush that looked more like a miniature sponge on a finger condom; a baby hairbrush and comb; a nasal aspirator--“Bulb syringe,” Sam offered, which didn’t sound much better--and a couple small teething toys because apparently babies liked to chew things when they got teeth.

Brienne came next, saying, ”Sandor told us what you’re having,” as she handed Sansa a big blue gift bag. Sansa turned then to look at him and he’d shrugged, though the look in her eyes held no disappointment for him giving that away. 

She opened the bag to find a set of crib sheets, a crib blanket, a smaller blanket for a car seat, and a couple stuffed animals. She hugged them all in turn, but before she could thank Brienne, the tall woman reached over and took Tormund’s hand in hers. 

She looked annoyed and happy at the same time as she said, “They’re from both Tormund and I.” 

The ginger’s grin was blinding as he looked on his woman.

Next came Renly’s and Loras’s gift, which was a changing table and cabinet combo, painted a light blue, complete with changing pad, because, “We hear late-night diaper changes can suck.” That had the whole group chuckling.

Davos’s gift was what looked to be the most expensive, biggest, safest infant car seat on the planet. 

“Oh my, Davos--you really shouldn’t have.”

Davos had walked up to her, crouched down and taken her hand in his. Sandor only bristled slightly, knowing the older man had no intentions on Sansa and was acting in a fatherly manner.

“Your boy will need the best, and I bought you the best. Now you don’t have to worry about moving him about safely, understand?” Sansa’s eyes were wet as she nodded at the older man, pulling him in to kiss his cheek before he stood and walked back to his seat.

Next came Petyr, who handed her a small envelope that had the name of an expensive chain baby store on the front of it. 

“There’s enough on that gift card for you to pick out the stroller of your choice,” he said, his voice kind but unnaturally so. Sandor felt the hair on the back of his neck raise, and he intended to speak to Sansa later about the gift.

She did  _ not _ pull Petyr down for a kiss, however, much to Sandor’s approval.

Lastly came Margaery and Daenerys’ gift, another gift basket with all manner of items in it. Sandor was interested in what they were, until the ladies started explaining them.

“We didn’t know if you planned on nursing or bottle feeding, and we know you work from home or else we’d have gotten you a pump.”

A  _ what _ ??

Daenerys went on, “There’s mother’s milk tea in there, which is supposed to help with your milk supply, as well as a month’s worth of Fenugreek and Blessed thistle, which a midwife told us can help as well. Though she warned us it would make you smell like maple syrup.” Sansa laughed at that, but Sandor thought it sounded… nice.

“There are nursing pads,” said Margaery, though Sandor didn’t know what those were, “And a cold beverage cup because you need to drink a lot of fluids while nursing.” The woman walked up to pull out a small purple tube and held it up, speaking quietly so the rest of the people sitting in the wide circle couldn’t hear her--except for Sandor, that is.

“I also heard your nipples can crack and bleed sometimes when you first start nursing--” Holy hell, he didn’t want to hear that, “--so this is Lanolin, which is supposed to help the skin. Put it on several times a day and it should keep your nipples soft and ready... for the baby,” Margaery said, kissing Sansa’s hair and putting the lanolin back in the basket…

Then she gave Sandor such a pointed look that he was suddenly dumbfounded that Margaery knew of his attraction for Sansa. There was no other explanation for that quiet description of what could happen to a woman’s nipples while nursing.

_ Damn her _ . And the way she was smirking at him from across the circle, he knew that  _ she _ knew he was thinking about Sansa’s nipples.

_ For fuck’s sake _ .

“Sandor? Do you have a gift?” 

Daenerys was smiling kindly at him, but he cleared his throat and, looking at Sansa, shook his head. Her smile faltered and she looked away, though after a short struggle it reappeared as she looked at the gifts piled around her.

“I do,” he said quickly, his voice deep and quiet and just for her, an unidentifiable emotion coloring it. “I didn’t wrap it, so it’s in my apartment. I’ll get it when we’re done.”

Sansa looked back at him, a small smile playing at her lips before she turned her attention to something Margaery was talking to her about.

It wasn’t much later, after the sun had started to set and they’d turned on the backyard lights, that Sansa announced she was ready to turn in for the night. Sandor immediately stood, pulling her to her feet, and before he could say anything about the gifts, Renly, Loras and Sam were there, piling gifts into their arms as they made their way back into the building.

Davos had turned in some time before, and Tormund… was missing. As was Brienne. Odd, thought Sandor.

He walked slowly behind Sansa, but she looked back at him and smiled.

“I’m not fragile, you don’t have to follow me like I’m going to fall at any moment.” At that, Sandor snorted a laugh. 

“You’ve fainted twice now, and your stomach is getting bigger. I’m not going to take any chances, and neither are you.”  _ Fuck _ , those last four words. Why did he have to say shit like that? She’d been smiling at him, and he ruined it. Her smile fell away and she turned from him to walk towards her apartment, his only consolation that he had a nice view of her ass in jeans again.

She unlocked her door so the men could offload the gifts in her living room, and she hugged them all in turn as they filed out. Then she turned to look at Sandor, one hand unconsciously resting on the underside of her growing belly.

“I’ll, uh… I’ll go get your gift,” he said lamely, and he walked out, only to return a short time later with a brown paper bag.

Sansa was sitting on the middle of her couch, leaving him nowhere to sit unless he either wanted to pull out a dining chair or sit next to her.

He chose to sit next to her, and he sunk into her couch so much that she had to shift unless she wanted to slide right into him. It didn’t seem particularly easy for her to move about, what with the belly in the way and all, and he felt silly. So he just handed her the gift, which stopped her shifting and she landed against him, thigh to thigh, distracted by the bag on her lap.

As she opened it and looked in, her eyes widened and Sandor again became uncomfortable, though for a different reason.

“Oh no, Sandor, no…” she gasped.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 2,600 words, what was I thinking?! Every time I post a chapter I cringe. They're so short. I hope you guys appreciate the increase in posting.

Sansa gasped as she pulled the medium-sized black box out of the bag, shoving the bag aside onto the couch beside her as she rested the box back on her thighs. 

“Oh no, Sandor, no…”

A hand came up and she ran it over the surface reverently, and he knew that she knew what it was.

“You shouldn’t have, Sandor,” she whispered. “This is too much.”

He tried to shift away from her but only managed to sink them further into the damnable couch. So he lifted an arm and rested it against the back of the couch.

“Sandor, I can’t accept this.”

“Of course you can.”

“This must have cost you a small fortune!” 

He coughed, and cleared his throat.

“I bought it because I thought you’d like it. Will you use it?”

She looked up at him then, and he saw tears in her eyes, more so than what she’d shown with any of her other gifts. She looked back down, running a hand over the box again as she took in the state-of-the-art bluetooth speaker, promising three-hundred and sixty degrees of crisp, clear sound.

“Of course I’ll use it… oh my goodness… Sandor, I don’t know what to say.”

He could have sworn he blushed, as he felt his face flush. 

“I didn’t want to bring it out to the barbeque because it’s not for the baby.” Again, he had to clear his throat. “It’s for you.”

The look she gave him was one he had never thought to see on her face, at least not directed at  _ him _ . She smiled so brightly, her eyes shining with tears, that he almost brought a hand up to cup her face. 

_ Almost _ .

“Can I open it??”

Sandor chuckled then, and somehow managed to extract himself from the couch long enough to pull a pocket knife out of his pocket. When he handed it to her he perched on the edge of the couch instead of sitting back next to her, wanting to put a bit of distance between him and her warm body.

He watched her open it, her excitement tangible as she slid the knife through the adhesive circles holding the box shut. Then she handed the knife back to him, and as he pocketed it, she slid the box’s top up to reveal the cylindrical speaker.

Sansa admired it as she pulled it out of the base and set the box aside. She flipped through the small manual for just a moment before turning it on and asking Sandor to put it in front of her on the cardboard box that served as her coffee table. Then she dug her phone out of her pocket and flipped through a couple screens until the the speaker suddenly poke out loud in a robotic voice, saying it was connected to her phone. 

Sansa smiled softly as a Trace Adkins song wafted through the speaker. Even Sandor was impressed with the sound quality, as the deep bass sounded just as crisp as the vocals on the slow track. 

“I love it,” she whispered, looking over at Sandor. She looked sincere when she added, “This is the nicest gift anyone’s ever given me.”

She was looking at him in that way again--smiling, eyes misty, and he was having a hard time concentrating on how for the longest time he’d thought of her as immature and irresponsible. 

Right now, tonight, she just looked beautiful--a woman about to become a mother, and a radiant mother at that.

He cleared his throat as he rose, and she stood as well, but she remained where she was rather than walking him to the door. Once again Sandor’s emotions were chasing him out of her apartment. He didn’t  _ want _ to see her there, standing there, looking like the perfect young mother with her hands wrapped around her belly, staring at him like he’d just roped the moon for her.

Then he remembered what he’d wanted to talk to her about, and he turned from the door.

“That gift card from Baelish,” he started, shaking his head, remembering Baelish’s disappointed look at not receiving the same thanks from Sansa as what Davos had received. 

“I know,” Sansa said, shrugging. “I got the feeling that because of the card, he wants me to owe him something.”

Sandor nodded. He had seen that, too.

“I would use it soon, otherwise he may use it as an excuse to ask you on a date.” He paused, eyes narrowing as he looked for what he’d hoped to see in her expression. “Unless you wouldn’t mind that…?” 

He saw it then, the revulsion he had hoped to see in her eyes.

“Gods, no. I’d rather cut off my finger.” 

Sandor couldn’t help it. He chuckled, and noticed Sansa’s stare became more intent as she listened to the sound of his laugh. 

“Yes, well, what I was getting at is…” He looked away, and then back at her. “You might want to go use the card soon, in case Baelish invites himself along when you go.”

“He wouldn’t do that if you’re with me, right?”

_ What? _ Sandor froze. Did he just hear her correctly?

“You want me to go with you? ... Shopping?” 

Sansa’s hands went behind her back and she looked at the floor, her belly pushing out in that position. She looked like she wasn’t sure if she was saying the right thing, and Sandor ached to read something into her invitation, but he managed to keep his cool.

“Unless… you wouldn’t  _ want _ to go. I just thought--”

“No,” he interrupted quickly before he could convince himself to think rationally, “I’ll go.” He blinked, not really wanting to hear reasons why he wouldn’t want to. Nothing in him was telling him not to. He  _ wanted _ to. Wanted to spend time with her, wanted to do this for her, wanted to go with her. Yes. 

“Yes,” he said more assuredly, nodding as her shy smile returned to her face and she looked at him. “Just name a day.”

Sansa seemed to think for only a moment before blurting out one word.

“Tomorrow?” 

Something was changing, something in the way she spoke to him and the way she looked at him. The open animosity was gone, as though it had never been there. What had happened to make it go away?

“Tomorrow?” he repeated dumbly, and she nodded.

“You don’t work tomorrow, and I’m not doing anything, so does that sound like a plan? Maybe nine o-clock?”

Sandor was in unfamiliar territory. Baby stroller shopping with this young woman… Was he out of his mind?

“Sounds good.”

She beamed, once again at  _ him _ , and he wondered what alternative reality he’d wandered into. Then she approached, a new Trace Adkins song coming through the speaker.

“Thank you, again, for the speaker, Sandor.”

“Yes, well.” He was unsure what to do. He should leave, but she was standing so close in front of him. His eyes had a direct line down into her cleavage, and it was like an act of the Gods was helping him keep his gaze on her face. He swallowed.

“I know you listen to music a lot--I can hear it. So this way you can bring the music with you around the apartment. And when the baby comes and you’re… nursing… you can bring it with you.”

“Or when we’re in your apartment complaining that you’re stinking up the building with paint fumes?”

“You can bring it with you,” he offered, and they both chuckled. 

Then to his surprise, she put a hand on his good cheek and pulled him down so she could pressed a kiss to his ruined one, right above the line of his beard. 

“Goodnight, Sandor,” she said, and she reached around him to open the door, waiting until he was out and had said goodbye before closing it behind him.

_ Holy hell _ , he thought.  _ She kissed me _ .

~≈~≈~

_ Oh my gods, I kissed him _ , Sansa thought. 

That older, grouchy, overbearing, chauvinistic, beast of a man--and she’d kissed him. She pressed her fingertips to her mouth, still standing by the door as she listened to his open and close.

It had just been his cheek, but it was his  _ scarred  _ cheek, with the hint of beard stubble tickling her lower lip. And she had kissed that one on purpose. For some reason, probably because he really had been so kind to her, she had wanted to show him that the part of him that was likely making him so grumpy--or  _ a _ part of him, since there were probably many--wasn’t really that scary at all. She wanted him to know that she saw  _ him _ , and not his scars.

She thought she’d gotten her message across, judging by the dumbfounded look he’d left her with.

And as she sat on the couch that night, listening to the wonderful speaker as soft piano music poured out of it, she came to realize that behind everything he’d done for her--or  _ to _ her in some cases--there really was kindness. He was looking out for her.

He was looking out for her when he’d called the medics the first time she’d fainted. 

He was looking out for her when he’d paid her bill, when he’d carried her box, when he’d warmed up her dinner for her. 

And every single time she’d fought him, and he’d fought back. But that really wasn’t the nature of their acquaintance, was it? If she took away the ridiculous fighting and focused on their budding friendship for what it was, she could see it was a man and a woman, doing nice things for one another, and it had culminated in that kiss.

Because it was true--she tried to return all of his nice deeds with one of her own. Well, she made him food. And whether he liked it or not, she was at least going to buy him a coffee tomorrow. And perhaps he’d like a wall hanging?

Chuckling to herself, she got ready for bed, standing in front of her bathroom mirror as she brushed her teeth, her newfound appreciation for the grump bringing to mind that conversation she’d had with the ladies upstairs all those weeks ago.

_ Did  _ she wonder what Sandor looked like naked? As if on cue, his shower started in his apartment, and Sansa knew he’d be stripping down, getting out of all his clothes and then stepping into a shower that was likely too small for him. He’d probably have to bend down just to get his head under the shower head.

Well, though she was beginning to ignore his rudeness from earlier conversations and beginning to see it as the concern for her well-being that it was, she wasn’t  _ entirely _ forgiving when it came to all of his incessant meddling.

So she used the toilet and then, without remorse, flushed, waiting unabashedly to hear anything from the bathroom on the other side of the wall.

There was a growl and a thump of his fist against the wall.

Sansa fell asleep smiling, humming to herself a merry tune.

The next morning, Sansa dressed in her peasant blouse, forgoing a bra but still wanting the longer sleeves due to the breeze that was stirring up dust out in the parking lot. She paired it with a pair of jeans and the gold sandals she’d worn the night before, then combed her hair so it fell down her back, long and straight.

She knew she looked nice when she saw Sandor’s face at her door, taking in the swell of breasts and belly through the heavily embroidered material of the shirt even before bringing his eyes up to meet hers.

Sandor wore a gray t-shirt and jeans, and she thought he looked just as nice. She liked the way he looked in jeans, especially when he turned around.

There was a brief argument--discussion, she’d managed to keep it to--as they’d argued over the merits of taking her car or his truck. In the end she agreed that his truck would be best to hold the stroller, and he pointed out that she might have to rethink the small hatchback if she wanted a vehicle that would hold everything for the baby.

Despite the initial reaction she almost gave him of  _ Mind your own business _ , she stepped back from herself to see that what he said was likely true. 

So without much more talking, he guided her up into the passenger seat of his truck, staying close to her back and holding her with hands at her waist so she wouldn’t fall if she lost her footing. His hands on her body felt…  _ wonderful _ , though she didn’t let on that that was the case. They were large and wide, and strong, so unlike Joffrey’s that it was almost funny.

She didn’t like that being physically close to Sandor was bringing out memories of Joffrey, but she supposed it was bound to happen at some point.

Joffrey was as light as Sandor was dark, and the younger man was barely the same height as Sansa, while Sandor towered over her.

Everything about Sandor was big and muscular and hairy, while Joffrey had been small and slight of frame, with a hairless chest and barely any facial hair to speak of. The differences between them were striking, and it had Sansa wondering why she had ever been attracted to Joffrey in the first place.

Plus she’d known Sandor for what--four months? Five months? She didn’t even know, the last few months being such a whirlwind for her. And she was just now beginning to appreciate his personality, and the man that he was. With Joffrey it had been instant attraction, though it likely had something to do with how he had literally wined and dined her, and had bought her every gift imaginable with his trust fund money.

The things Sandor had done for her were less tangible, but more meaningful, by far. Not only that, but Joffrey had left her with a baby, and had willingly signed away his parental rights. If that wasn’t a sign of his lack of worth, she didn’t know what was.

She and Sandor drove in silence, but as they neared the store she watched him, looking like he fit perfectly into the enormous cab of the truck. Sansa’s feet touched the floor, but she was tall for a woman. Sandor still had room beneath his knees between his legs and the seat.

She watched him navigate the clutch and the gear shifter with ease, paying close attention to the road and other drivers, stopping at all stop signs, slowing down at yellow lights, and always,  _ always _ using his blinker. 

She smiled when she realized he was a better driver than her.

He glanced over and saw her staring at him, but he didn’t smile and he looked away. It didn’t make sense to her how his mood could have turned sour so quickly since leaving the apartment.

“Are you okay?” she asked, not understanding his change. She watched as his nostrils flared and he glanced over again, looking at her as she looked at him.

“You’re on my bad side,” he explained.

Sansa mouthed  _ Oh _ , and she lifted her eyebrows. 

“Bad side?”

“I don’t like when people stare at my scars.”

“I wasn’t staring at your scars, though.” Then she bit her lip, chiding herself for saying anything as she felt a blush steal across her face. Sandor caught that, and looked over at her with the faintest smile on his face.

“What  _ were _ you staring at, then?”


	12. Chapter 12

Sansa smiled at him across the cab of the truck, chuckling as she shook her head, then turned to look out the window.  _ That felt suspiciously like flirting _ .

But it bothered her, as they pulled into the baby store’s parking lot, that he felt that way. It bothered her that he thought she would--what, judge him? Think less of him for having scars? For heaven’s sake, she’d  _ kissed _ those scars the night before. He wasn’t making sense.

So when he came around to help her out of the truck, she paused, now eye-to-eye with Sandor for the first time. She sat on the edge of his bench seat and he stood before her, ready to help her down.

She wasn’t sure how to word what she wanted to say, so she just plowed ahead.

“Sandor, I don’t want you to be uncomfortable when I look at you.”

He smiled slightly, but there was bitterness behind it, not directed at her but at whatever demons in his past had given him the disfigurement.

“I’m uncomfortable with everyone looking at me, staring at me.” 

Sansa understood that he was opening up to her, just briefly to explain to her the way he felt about himself and his scars, so she decided to do the same.

“Would you at least consider, eventually, thinking of me differently?” Sandor looked into her eyes then, and she could see he was searching for something there. Guile? Deception? He wasn’t going to find any. “Just… know that I don’t see them when I look at you.” She smiled softly, and whispered, “Not anymore.”

There was a visible softening of Sandor’s face before it hardened again, and he simply nodded before holding out his hand to her.

It took a moment to climb down, when she finally gave up on the door and put her hands on Sandor’s shoulders, looking down past her belly to navigate the placement of her feet. Sandor put his hands back on her waist to steady her and she was finally down, their hands slipping away from each other’s bodies. It was awkward and unusual, something she never needed help with when using her own vehicle, but she decided she liked the way he was there to assist her.

“Thank you,” she murmured, reaching back into the truck to grab her purse off the seat. When she turned she saw his eyes come up from her butt, and she wrinkled her nose at him, smiling.  _ Caught him _ , she thought.  _ Now we’re even _ .

But not wanting to make him any more uncomfortable than she already had, she stepped away so he could close the door and lock the truck, and they walked through the parking lot to the store.

~≈~≈~

The store was everything Sandor would expect a high-end baby department store to be. Lots of pink and blue decor, displays showing every manner of small baby item you’d need when having one, and plenty of sales people waiting to help you sign away your life for a designer car seat.

Sansa was in heaven.

She was looking at  _ every _ thing, and had appeared to forget that he was even there. They were left alone for the most part, Sandor following her around as she looked at toys, blankets, bedding, maternity clothes, and finally the nursing department, where he  _ really _ felt uncomfortable.

And to make matters worse, on the other side of the shelves, which were at the convenient height of his chest, was a circle of comfortable chairs where a small group of women were nursing their babies.

_ Gods _ , get him out of there. 

He turned his back on them as Sansa browsed, and was thankful when they finally meandered over to where the strollers were.

“Blue, blue, blue,” she was saying to herself, looking around for one that was the right shade of blue. She passed by a couple that he thought would fit, and he wondered what was going on inside her head as the looked.

He would occasionally get distracted by the way her top fell down her shoulder, revealing the fact over and over that she wasn’t wearing a bra. Then he’d find himself trying to get a glimpse of her front every time she turned around, feeling slightly lecherous as he did so.

But it was her own damned fault. She had dressed like they were going on a date, and she was fucking gorgeous. And he was a man, so… Yeah.

Sansa passed the entire section of jogging strollers and went straight for the street strollers, ones with smaller wheels but large baskets on the bottom to hold everything. They also looked nicer and weren’t quite as expensive as the jogging strollers.

But--and he was not going to admit this to her, yet--he had looked strollers up online last night and, in his opinion--this he  _ did _ tell her--a jogging stroller was the way to go.

“Why on earth would you say that??” she asked him. He walked backwards, motioning for her to follow him.

“Well, look.” 

He crouched down by one he thought looked nice, a sleek gray and black one that claimed it also fit all infant car seats. “This one will lock in your car seat, just like the other strollers, but look at the wheels.” He pointed out the tread, and showed her how they were tubed tires that she could maintain.

“The larger tires mean you can take this one in the stores, on streets, sidewalks, and off road. I bet it would even work at the beach.”

“What makes you think I’m taking the stroller off road?”

It was just an idea, and when he told her, she rolled her eyes. But then he felt the familiar defensiveness rise up in him as she dismissed his ideas. He  _ had _ , after all, done quite a bit of research.

“Also, look.” He showed her the two large cup holders, the compartment in the middle of the handlebars that had a small lock, and how the basket was wide enough to fit bags--he went to find the biggest display model of a diaper bag he could find and shoved it underneath the stroller. 

“And the baby will be able to lay down, sit up, and it has a five-star safety rating with this five-point harness system. Paired with that wide wheel base in the rear and the weighted frame, it’s slightly heavy but durable and sturdy.”

Sansa was looking at him like he had two heads. 

“How do you know so much about strollers, Sandor?” She had one eyebrow arched in his direction, but he was determined to not be embarrassed by what he was about to say.

“I researched them.”

“Last night?”

“Yes.”

“Because you were coming here, with me?”

“Yes.”

“Hmm.” Sansa crossed her arms under her breasts and studied him, and he tried not to look down at her chest. It was hard. 

Too hard. He turned away from her, back to the stroller.

That was when a sales lady walked up to them, holding out her hand to first Sandor and then Sansa, introducing herself as Jessica.

“I’m so happy you’ve found our store! What brings you two in today?” Sansa stepped up beside Sandor, smiling as she took in the experience of shopping.

“I’m in the market for a stroller, and I think we’ve found a good one. Could you tell me more about this one?”

And she pointed across the aisle to a blue street stroller. 

_ That woman _ , he growled silently. She was going to be the death of him.

Sandor looked at her over the top of the woman’s head and glared, letting her know with his eyes that he knew exactly what she was doing.

Sansa chattered away with the sales lady about the stroller, and when the woman was done illuminating Sansa on all the finer aspects of the small-wheels stroller, Sansa surprised him by pointing to the gray one he’d chosen, asking what the benefits would be to owning one of that type--that one, in particular. She also told the lady that it was the one Sandor thought would be best.

“Ah, smart daddy,” the sales lady said, and if Sandor had been drinking anything he was sure it would have come out his nose. 

She went on talking, and though Sansa’s eyes had widened at the same time his did at the Daddy comment, she didn’t correct the sales lady.

_ What the fuck? _ Talk about uncomfortable. 

Sandor didn’t know what to think, and he waited while the sales lady told Sansa everything he had just told her, except she added things that would tempt a woman to buy the damned thing--easy to clean, cover came off and could be thrown in the washer, and that they had easy-to-use bug nets for hikes and strolls through the park.

Sandor was irritated that Sansa didn’t correct the sales lady, and he was about to when Sansa asked how much the stroller cost. He supposed it meant something that she  _ hadn’t _ asked about the street stroller’s price.

But the dollar amount the woman stated was a full hundred and fifty dollars over what Baelish had put on the gift card.

_ Well, fuck _ . Sandor felt bad for suggesting that particular stroller. 

“Oh, alright then. That’s out of my price range. Would you be able to show me some that are similar, but a bit cheaper?” Sandor could see the slight slump in Sansa’s shoulders, but he also saw how she pasted on a bright smile, appearing eager to learn about other, less costly strollers. 

They moved down the line, listening to the sales lady describe the other strollers, noting this one had a smaller basket, this one only fit such-and-such brand of car seats, and that one only had one cup holder and solid rubber tires. Safety-wise, they were all very similar. It’s just that the one he had picked out was apparently the Rolls Royce of strollers.

Jessica left them to ponder their purchase, and Sandor rounded on Sansa, instantly noting the opportunity to confront her about the slip.

“Why didn’t you tell her I wasn’t the father?” He was irritated and he let it show on his face. But as Sansa looked up at him, her eyes full of sadness at his question, her expression morphed into resignation and humility.

She nodded.

“I know, Sandor. I shouldn’t have done that, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. It’s just... “ She inhaled deeply and let it out on a sigh. “I’ve been the single, unwed pregnant mom for months now, and… I guess in that moment it felt kind of nice to be… not… that.” 

She looked up at him. 

“I’m sorry, I’ll correct her when she gets back. It won’t happen again.” Then she turned and walked down the line, this time looking at both sides of the stroller aisle, the sales lady having pointed out now where to find the price tags.

So why did Sandor suddenly feel like such a jerk?

He knew the answer. He felt like a jerk because he knew what it was like to be judged unfairly. He’d had enough people take one look at him and judge him to be a monster, that he intimately understood the feeling. He wasn’t thinking the pregnancy was something Sansa hadn’t been in control of, and he just chose not to question her decision-making skills based on the unplanned pregnancy; but she couldn’t do anything about it  _ now _ , now that it was there and unstoppable.

As well as the fact that she touched her stomach and felt her baby like she was already possessive over it.  _ Him _ , Sandor corrected. 

And that was a good thing, for sure. Right?

But that didn’t stop him from understanding in that moment what kind of looks and comments she must have received in the beginning about being an unwed mother, with no father of the baby around to help or care for her.

So was it really irritating that for one day, for one moment, she wanted to feel like she was  _ not _ what people said about her? Despite the fact that she was? 

No, he decided. It didn’t irritate him as much as he thought it did.

And he liked her, he really did. She was nice and energetic and thoughtful, and she was apparently working hard on her projects and proud that she was bringing in enough money to support herself. And it seemed like every time he saw the interior of her apartment she had gone one step further to make it into a home for her and her child.

He turned and looked at the stroller that he had talked her into. It was an exorbitant amount of money, and he’d just bought her that speaker, but…  _ damnit _ , he wanted her to be happy.

He strode over to where Sansa was standing, looking at some cheaper models of strollers and tapping the gift card against her palm.

“Hey,” he said, getting her attention. She turned to him, and her expression was blank, neutral expectancy that he was about to say something to her. And he was, but he didn’t want to come off as creepy, either. So he measured his words and spoke slowly.

“Look, I understand what you’re saying about being judged.” He brought a hand up and rubbed the back of his neck, feeling awkward that they were even having this conversation. He dropped his hand and looked at Sansa’s belly. 

What if it  _ was _ his? How would he be acting right now, at this very moment?

It wasn’t, and  _ she _ wasn’t--his, that is. But he could do this for her, today, right now.

“I don’t want--”

Before he could finish, Jessica walked back up to them. Sandor wondered how far to take this fib, but the woman took the option from him.

“So, have you two made a decision?” 

Sansa cleared her throat, bringing a palm up to rub the hair at the crown of her head. 

“Yes, um…” She started to speak, and glanced at Sandor, her face showing regret that he hadn’t been able to finish his thought before being interrupted. Then she looked back at Jessica, saying, “But we’re not--”

“--Going to take anything but the best,” Sandor finished for her. He looked down at her and smiled, noting how Jessica flinched at the way his scars creased at his temple and cheek. She could go fuck herself for all he cared, but not until she brought out that gray stroller in a box for Sansa.

He took the gift card amidst Sansa’s protestations and handed it to the lady, and then pulled out his wallet and a couple hundred dollar bills to bring the total to the cost of the stroller. 

“This should cover it,” he assured her, and then he smiled back at Sansa, who was looking up at him with the most adorable, baffled expression on her face. “There, little bird. He’ll have the best of the best.” 


	13. Chapter 13

To avoid the awkwardness at suddenly calling Sansa by a nickname--no, a  _ pet _ name, which was infinitely more embarrassing--Sandor looked up at Jessica expectantly, probably with the same expression Sansa had used on him a moment ago--that resigned  _ Let’s do this _ look.

Jessica wasn’t flinching anymore as she took the proffered money and said she would be right back with the receipt.

Sansa rounded on him, and just as he expected, there was anger on her face.

“Sandor!” she nearly yelled, her face full of worry and irritation. “How could you do that??”

He knew what she was talking about but wanted to deflect her rage.

“It’s just a nickname,” he said, lifting his hands as though trying to placate her with the movement. She was not to be placated, however.

“You know very well I can’t afford a stroller like that! Why did you do that? That’s so much money! And after the speaker… I don’t understand! Go tell her we don’t want it. Or wait, no--I will do it.” But as she went to walk away from him, he reached out and grasped her arm lightly, stopping her from advancing on the stand of cash registers a short distance from the stroller display.

“Look, I talked you into that stroller but I didn’t know how much it cost. Look at it this way--we just bought a five-hundred dollar stroller for two hundred dollars.” He bent his head slightly towards her, hoping to mollify her with logic. It seemed to work, but only tiny bit. “That’s a pretty good deal, right?”

She was still glaring at him, but it was more of a good-humored glare than a menacing glare. That was a thing, right?

But she shook her head, defeat written in the slump of her shoulders.

“Sandor, how am I ever going to pay you back?”

“You’re not. That’s what friends are for.”

The transformation was instant. Sansa smiled up at him then, a genuine surprised smile that he wanted to memorize. He loved that smile.

“We’re friends?”

He nodded, struggling to hold onto the old him--the one who scowled and ranted and raged at her. But that man was disappearing, as slowly and as surely as she was blooming into the mother that baby needed.

“Yeah, little bird, we are.”

“Little bird. Why are you calling me that?”

Sandor shrugged. It was silly, really, but he felt the name fit.

“You’re always squawking at me,” he explained, but Sansa smiled wider.

“Oh, you mean chirping?”

This made Sandor smile. He made it look like he was seriously considering what she was saying, and she batted him on the arm with the back of her hand.

“No, squawking,” he murmured quietly, enjoying the banter between them that had nothing to do with arguing or bickering or talking about anything they disagreed with.

But her face sobered, and she looked up at him with a shake of her head.

“I’ll pay you back, Sandor. This was too much.” 

He shook his own head, insisting, “No, it wasn’t.”

“Then I’ll cook for you,” she said, and she looked away, the expression on her face thoughtful. “Starting tonight,” she mumbled, and her gaze returned to him just as Jessica returned. 

“Which means we need to go grocery shopping.”

~≈~≈~

They waited for the stroller to be wheeled out on a cart and Sandor took it to the back of the truck. His body drew Sansa’s gaze as she watched him lift the large box into the back.

He again helped her into the truck, and they drove around until she settled on a small coffee shop where there wouldn’t be too many people. She didn’t want Sandor feeling any more uncomfortable than he already did, being out in public with her.

There was one time, later, at the supermarket, when they were picking up ingredients for dinner where she felt someone crossed the line where his scars were concerned.

Up until that point he had been the perfect gentleman--keeping touch to a minimum but helping her in and out of the truck, pushing in her chair while she sat down at the coffee shop, getting her a cart, and pulling her purse out of the truck when she’d left it in the middle of the seat and couldn’t reach it. She was having a great time, as he was doing things for her Joffrey never had, and never would have, done. 

In short, he was spoiling her and didn’t even know it.

But when they were in the supermarket and he had gone to get her a cart when the amount of produce she was buying exceeded the limits of the small basket he was carrying, he made the mistake of walking out towards the carts to switch out the basket with a larger cart.

Security descended on him, and asked him to step back inside the store to verify that he had purchased the items that were in the basket.

Sansa had seen all of this, and she was instantly furious. Sandor’s face was… blank. It was as though he wasn't surprised that they had targeted him, and it made Sansa’s blood boil. She stormed over to him from where she’d been picking out apples, and she stood with her back to his chest, a small shield in front of his much larger body.

“Just what the  _ hell _ do you think you’re doing? I sent him to get me a cart for my groceries, and you accost him in the store?” 

She was shaking, and she felt Sandor put a hand on her shoulder--the bare shoulder, exposed by the open neck of her peasant blouse--but she shook it off.

“Has he left the store? Was he on his way out the second set of double doors? Do you have a genuine reason to suspect him of shoplifting other than your own incompetence?? Tell me!” 

Her voice was raised but she didn’t care. She was infuriated that they had targeted him and she wanted to hear it from their own mouths.

The younger gentleman spoke up, a thin man with a sparse mustache and goatee who looked barely out of college. He looked her age, in fact.

“Ma’am, we had a report by one of our associates of a suspicious looking man, and we watched him attempt to take that basket out of the store.” He shuffled back and forth on his feet, but Sansa wasn’t going to let him off easy. Again, the hand came up to rest on her shoulder and she left it there, knowing he wasn’t going to stop her. 

“But isn’t store policy that the items haven’t indeed been shoplifted until they’ve left the store?”

This time it was the older woman who spoke up, though her hand was still resting on the walkie talkie at her hip. 

“Yes, ma’am,” she said meekly. Sansa needed it finished.

“And did his groceries ever leave the store?”

“No, ma’am.”

“So we’re done here, then?”

“Yes, ma’am,” the man and woman said in unison. 

“Then come on Sandor, let's get these groceries and get out of here. I’m done shopping at a store that treats its patrons this way.” And she grabbed his hand and stalked off, him dragging the cart with the basket inside, still full of groceries. 

After that, Sandor kept an eye on her. And he stayed close, which didn’t go unnoticed by her either. She fumed as they finished gathering the groceries, Sansa mentally planning a few meals to make and freeze for him as well. By the time she was done shopping she was more affected by caffeine and adrenaline than what she should have been. She could feel her heart thumping inside her chest, indignation thrumming through her nerves as her fingers tapped a rhythm onto her purse strap.

“Sandor, I think I need to sit,” she told him when they were back in the truck. “Can you give me a minute?”

He nodded and turned the key in the ignition backwards, which brought the music on without starting the truck. He tuned it to a country station and turned it down low, letting her have some quiet time.

She appreciated it, though he spent much of the time staring at her. She only felt puzzled at that, knowing that he did hate it when people stared at him. But she’d just put on quite the show for his benefit, and she guessed what he was waiting for was any kind of explanation.

“I’m sorry for that, Sandor, if I made a scene.”

“ _ If _ ?” 

That brought a chagrined smile to her face. She rolled her head on the head rest so she was looking over at him, gauging his reaction to what had just happened. He didn’t look unhappy, really. More… amused. Maybe a bit confused.

“I just couldn’t stand knowing they targeted you, that they assumed because you're big and dark and scarred that you were some kind of criminal.” She paused, shaking her head at the absurdity of it. “It made me angry that they were doing that to you, and that you looked like it’s happened before, and I wasn’t going to let them get away with it.” 

Shaking her head, she scoffed, looking forward out the windshield. 

“Idiots,” she said. “You wouldn’t harm a fly.”

Sandor turned fully towards her then, but she was laughing at him, glad he heard the joke in her voice. 

But she grew serious as she turned back to him, seeing his scars full on, without the hair over his face to hide them. He’s pushed it back to see her better in the truck, and now she could see in the full light of day the extent of them--covering the entire front portion of his scalp on his right side, and travelling down over the lump that used to be an ear, down the edge of his cheek where no beard would grow, and tugging down the corner of that eye.

“Oh, Sandor,” she breathed, tears springing to her eyes anew. “How awful it must have been to go through what you did.”

She wasn’t sure if he would talk about it, but he turned away before she could judge by his expression. Then he sighed heavily, his large frame expanding and then contracting as he started telling her his story.

“It was my brother that did it,” he grumbled into his window, and she watched his fists clench and unclench against his thighs. “He caught me playing with a toy and decided to teach me a lesson. Shoved my face into the side of my dad’s propane forge. I was six.”

Sansa had to cover her mouth with her hand, or she was going to cry out at the pain he must have felt, the betrayal, knowing that it was his brother who had done it.

“Then my dad lied about it, because he didn’t want to get Gregor in trouble--said I tripped into it. And he didn’t keep up on the doctor’s appointments because we didn’t have insurance.”

So that was why he was so adamant that someone pay her hospital bills. She was glad to have taken that off his mind, then, when she’d told him she had signed up for insurance.

“That’s awful, Sandor.” She sat with her hands clasped on her lap, not knowing whether he would accept her physically reaching out to him. So she held back, and offered verbal consolation. “I’m so sorry he did that… Thank you for telling me.”

Sandor looked back at her, nodding, looking down at her hands, and nodding again before he looked out the windshield.

“Well,” he said after a cough, “Should we go back to your apartment and set up this stroller? Friend?” he added, a slight smile playing at his mouth. The moment to talk about sad things was over, and Sansa now had a new appreciation for the grumpy man Sandor sometimes came off as. 

“Yes, that sounds like a plan. And then I’ll show you how good eggplant can taste.”

He groaned, which made her giggle as he put the truck in gear and pulled out of the parking lot. They drove in silence for a few minutes before Sandor spoke up from the driver’s seat.

“Thank you, though… For what you did back there.” He glanced over at her straight faced, but as he looked back at the road a smile appeared on his lips. “No one has ever stood up for me the way you did.” Then he chuckled, and shot her another glance. “I think we need something more fierce than  _ little bird _ .”

Sansa laughed as well, but she shook her head.

“No,” she said, thoughtful as she looked out the window. But then she looked back at him, smiling as she said, “I like it the way it is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter holds one of those scenes that have me questioning, "Why did I write that?" lol
> 
> I hope youg uys enjoyed it anyway <3 Mama Bear Sansa coming out of her shell.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feeling generous today, probably to make up for the silly business of the previous chapter. 
> 
> Baby Doodle is 3-1/2 weeks old! He is now more baby than newborn, which makes me a bit sad but also excited to see what kind of individual he is tomorrow, and the next day and the next. Now is an exciting time!

Sansa hadn’t been lying when she said she could make eggplant taste good. The concoction she’d put in front of Sandor a few hours later was delicious, and Sandor almost didn’t miss the meat.  _ Almost _ . But she assured him that with the cheese melted on top, the pine nuts that made it crunchy, and the oil with which she oven-fried the eggplant before dicing it up, it was actually loaded with calories.

And as she brought out a small homemade cheesecake, barely big enough for two people, he realized he was questioning the capacity of his stomach from eating incredibly rich food.

It had taken them awhile to get out all the pieces of the stroller and put it together. Sandor had had no idea that the item that would come out of the box would in fact not resemble a stroller at all, but all the pieces and parts individually wrapped in plastic bags. 

What he’d expected to take ten minutes actually ended up taking an hour and a half, as they tried to put it together with no instructions, lost a couple pieces and had to find them (one had rolled up Sandor’s pant leg while he’d been sitting on the floor), and then had to take apart a couple things that they had put together incorrectly.

And the whole time Sandor was trying  _ not _ to try to get glimpses down that damned top Sansa was wearing.

All day he had been confronted with the knowledge that she wasn’t wearing a bra. It was there when they had strolled through the stroller aisle of the baby store, of when he had put his hand on her bare shoulder at the supermarket, trying to get her to calm down for all their sakes…

And when she had sat in the passenger seat of his truck and every damned bump made him want to forget he was driving.  _ That _ was pure torture.

It amazed him that even though her stomach seemed to be getting bigger--that the baby inside her seemed to be getting bigger--that he just became more and more attracted to her. 

Today had been fun, but what he wouldn’t give to have her look at him with love and affection. A dream, is what it would be.

He was too old for her, pushing forty in a couple years and already looking like the old grizzled hermit who lived down the hall. It was nice spending time with her, laughing and talking about things they both knew wouldn’t set off an argument between them. But a relationship was impossible. She would never go for it, he was sure.

So in the meantime, he could do nice things for her, like upgrading her stroller to the ridiculously priced one he had talked her into, or coming over to let her cook for him, which she obviously enjoyed.

And he could enjoy her company for as long as it lasted--and be tortured by the way her breasts were filling out her shirts more, and how her belly was growing and getting in her way, and how her skin was glowing and she seemed like she wanted to smile around the clock.

After dinner they were sitting on her couch, Sansa regaling him of stories from her childhood when all she wanted to be was someone’s wife and all her sister wanted to be was a Marine. She’d laugh at a particular story and his eyes would wander to the soft, bouncing curve of her breast beneath the fabric of her shirt.

It was getting close to when he figured he would go home when suddenly she  _ Oof- _ ed, leaning forward with a hand going to her belly.

And before he could  _ ask _ if he could feel the baby, she was waving him closer to her so that he sat on the center cushion, twisted in her direction, and she was grabbing his hand to place it flat, palm-down, onto the right side of her stomach, down towards her waist.

Her excitement was contagious, but Sandor was so in awe at what he was feeling that he froze, eyes trained on her hand on top of his as he waited for the baby to move over and over again.

The bumps beneath his hand were mind-blowing. It was a miracle of the human body, one he had never thought he’d ever get to feel, and Sansa was sharing it with him.

He looked at her and said the first thing that came to mind.

“Holy  _ fuck _ …” 

At his comment, her smile just grew broader, and it appeared she liked that he was just as blown away at what they were feeling as she was. 

“Isn’t it amazing? I started feeling it a month ago, but lately the kicks have been getting stronger, and sometimes they make me have to sit down.” She smiled, but her voice fell when she almost whispered, “He gets really active when I lay down at night to go to sleep. It’s kind of annoying, but I can’t bring myself to be annoyed  _ with _ him. He’s not even born yet!”

Sandor thought he understood, and he knew how irritating that would be. He was just about to comment something generic and supportive, when she batted his hand away.

“Here, watch this,” she said, and she ushered him off the couch to standing so she could lay down. She did so on her back, her head propped up on a small pillow she kept on the couch. Then she motioned for Sandor to crouch down beside her so he did, landing with his knees beside the couch so his hip was up against the couch.

He watched as Sansa pulled her shirt up, and he was suddenly afraid she was going to show him her breasts--which he would  _ not _ have been able to handle.

But she just pulled the shirt up to just underneath them, and held it there.

He didn’t know what to do, so just as he was about to tell her that she held a finger to his lips, letting him know he was to be quiet.

_ Ah _ , what was it she’d said? When she lays in bed to fall asleep at night?

Then, sure enough, a minute later he saw the movement under her skin. His eyes shot to hers, his attempt to see if it was causing her discomfort. But her eyes just came up to meet his, and she smiled again.

“Alien,” he whispered, which almost made her chuckle. Instead she reached out and hit his shoulder with the back of her hand. 

He went back to watching the baby move, and realized Sansa hadn’t been lying. The little guy was an acrobat late at night, and he wondered when it stopped so she could sleep.

It was amazing, just absolutely amazing, what he was seeing. And when Sansa reached for his hand, he gladly let her guide it back to her stomach, where this time he was allowed to put skin on skin, and to feel the velvety smoothness of her stomach. Beneath his palm the baby boy kicked or kneed or prodded--he wasn’t sure which--against the new pressure found under Sandor’s hand.

Again, it was miraculous. He was never going to forget this, and he looked at her to tell her so.

But stopped short. Sansa was looking at him with a strange look in her eyes, a look that said she was seeing things inside him that he wanted to remain buried and dead. 

He didn’t want her to know how much this was affecting him, and how much it meant to him that she was allowing him to touch her, to touch her baby through her skin, and to feel that miracle of fetal movement. He didn’t want her to see it, he supposed, because he didn’t want her to have that power over him--the power to give something and then to take it away.

So he cleared his throat and pulled his hands back, fully realizing that her lips were wet and full, and ready for his kiss. He had only kissed a handful of women in his entire life, and had never gotten good at it, but he was certain it would have been phenomenal with Sansa.

Instead of allowing his thoughts to go down that road, he quickly stood, and after she’d pulled her shirt down, he helped her come back up to a sitting position.

“Thank you for that,” he said gruffly, and he cleared his throat so his voice would sound better. “And thank you for dinner... it was good.”

He couldn't stay any longer, couldn’t risk learning to want Sansa, to want that incredible baby as his own. He needed to get out of there, as his feelings were suddenly clawing up his throat like bile, making him feel claustrophobic.

“Okay, tomorrow for dinner?” Sansa stood, a bit wobbly but he steadied her with a hand to her waist. As soon as she was sure-footed again, he quickly pulled his hand away as though he’d been burned. 

“Yes, dinner, I’ll be here,” he mumbled, and then he hastily retreated to the door, putting on his boots and picking up the pile of trash he was going to dispose of tomorrow before work.

“Sandor,” she called, running into the kitchen for something. She came back with a paper sack that held leftovers from tonight’s dinner. 

“Thank you,” she said as she handed it to him, “Again, for the stroller. You’re too generous.”

Sandor wasn’t comfortable taking the compliment, the thanks.

“I just wanted you to have something good, not one of those cheap ones you were looking at.” His voice had turned snappy, and he felt powerless to stop it. Sansa’s eyes narrowed at his tone, yet she still smiled.

“Yes, well, this one will be wonderful. I’ll probably store it away when the baby is too big for it in case I have another kid someday.”

Another kid.  _ But not with him _ , his imagination added. The thought startled Sandor. 

He nodded and bit out a hasty goodbye, before backing out the door. He was gone down the hallway and into his apartment before she had a chance to say anything else.

~≈~≈~

On her way to the laundry room the next morning, Sansa ran into Gilly in the hallway. Gilly had an older baby in her arms and a toddler clinging to her legs, while attempting to drag an overloaded basket of dirty laundry.

“Good morning, Gilly!”

After the night she’d had, she had awoken in a great mood. Which was surprising, considering the mood Sandor had left her in.

Confused. Unsure. As though something was happening between them that he really didn’t want to happen, because he’d ended the night his usual grumpy self.

And she’d spent a good portion of her night in bed, humming to herself, hand on her belly, while wondering if she  _ wanted _ anything to happen.

“Good morning, Sansa, how are you doing? How’s your little boy?”

Sansa smiled, her small laundry basket perched on her hip.

“He’s doing well, moving a lot and keeping me up at night, but healthy.” They walked back to the door of the laundry room, Gilly dragging the child on her leg, and Sansa opened the door for her. There was a couple loads taking up two of the four dryers, but all of the washers were free.

“Have you picked out a name, yet?”

A shake of her head was Sansa’s reply. In truth, she’d bandied around a few names in her mind but hadn’t settled on anything. She wanted something simple, not necessarily a family name like Eddard or Benjen or one of her grandfather’s names. But a nice name, that he could grow up to be proud of. And nothing that started with J, or reminded her of anything having to do with his Lannister genes.

“Well, you have what, three months to go, yet?” Gilly sent her a kind smile, her limp brown hair falling over her shoulder as she maneuvered the basket towards a washer.

“Do you need some help with that?” Sansa laughed as the little boy--Alden, she remembered Sam telling her--grinned up at her, showing her every one of his small baby teeth. 

“Off, please,” Gilly was saying, with a shake of her leg. Alden pouted but scooted off on his butt, sitting just a few inches away as though ready to grab ahold of her again should Gilly decide to walk away.

“Actually, I would love some help. Do you mind?”

And that’s how Sansa found herself with an armful of one-year-old girl, when she had expected to just load the washer for Gilly.

“Oh my goodness, she’s so big!” Then she clamped her mouth shut, suddenly unsure of whether moms liked to hear that or not. 

Gilly must have seen her reaction because the other woman laughed, and patted Sansa’s shoulder. She stepped close to smile widely at her baby, mother showing all her teeth just like little Alden.

“Don’t worry, Sansa. Saying a baby is big should be seen as a compliment. It just means she’s healthy,” she finished, poking little Lily in the belly before returning to her task.

Lily seemed taken with Sansa, and picked up the red braid that hung over her shoulder. So while she waited for Gilly to finish, Sansa leaned against the wall next to the dryers and let the girl play with it, occasionally tugging the end out of the baby’s mouth.

She didn’t have much experience with babies--next to none, considering she hadn’t spent much time with Robb and his wife now that they had a little one. But it felt natural, holding Lily so that she was sort of straddling the top of Sansa’s belly, over one hip. The girl was wearing a little romper with a fake dress on the front, chubby little legs soft and warm against the bare skin of Sansa’s forearm. 

She was so cute, Sansa couldn’t help but lean forward and kiss the chubby cheeks, Gilly beaming at them from where she worked at the washing machines. Lily’s hair was brown, same as both Sam’s and Gilly’s, but whereas Sam had short hair and Gilly’s was straight, Lily’s was already turning into tiny little ringlets at one year old.

“Aren’t you just the cutest thing,” Sansa cooed, until suddenly the room felt smaller as a shadow was cast over her.

She looked up into the stormy gray eyes of a very grumpy Sandor.

“Good morning, Sandor.”

He grunted. No greeting, just a short glare at her and Lily before moving beside her to empty his laundry from the dryers.

“Shouldn’t mom’s also gain weight during pregnancy?”  _ Oh no _ , not back to  _ that _ , Sansa thought.

Gilly smiled at him, nonplussed over his attitude. 

“I suppose, in some cases,” she offered. “But I only gained twenty pounds with Lily and look at how chunky she is.” As if to illustrate her point, Gilly leaned over and pinched at the rolls on Lily’s thigh, who giggled at her mommy.

But at her words, Sandor gave Sansa a pointed look, eyeing her loose pregnancy top and jeans and then back to her face.

“Have you gained  _ any _ thing?” 

This morning his hair was back in his face, and he was wearing his clean paint clothes, thankfully free of fumes at this early in the morning. But his eyes were shadowed, and he had dark circles under them. It looked like he hadn’t slept very well, though Sansa tried not to care. She tried to remember the Sandor who had seemed so pleased that she’d liked the speaker, and the Sandor who told her he didn’t mind letting Jessica at the baby store think he was the father of Sansa’s baby, because he knew what it was like to be judged.

But she found it impossible when confronted by this version of him, the same version she had dealt with for weeks before they’d found anything to have common ground over.

“That’s really none of your business, is it, Sandor?” Her voice was calm but her message rang through clear. Sandor’s eyes narrowed, and he angrily dragged his clothes out of the dryer and into the basket before storming out of the room without so much as a goodbye. She stood still until she heard his door open, then the pause while she assumed he’d gathered his toolbox, and… a rustle of a paper bag.

For some reason, this made her smirk. He was taking the leftovers she’d given him.

His keys jingled as he locked his door and then the sounds of him faded into the rumble of his truck as he drove away.

Sansa looked over to find Gilly watching her, a small smile playing at the lips that were spread over her protruding front teeth.

“Would you like to come over for coffee? Sam’s already left, and the kids and I aren’t doing anything.” She pushed in the slides on the front of the washers that started them with the row of quarters she had lined up, and then reached for Lily so Sansa could start her own load.

Sansa had work to do but knew it could wait a little while. And talking to another woman sounded like a really nice way to start her morning.

“I’d like that, Gilly. Thank you.”

An hour and a half later the two women left Gilly’s apartment to gather their dried clothes, and made tentative plans to have coffee again soon. Sansa had found that she liked Gilly immensely, and enjoyed knowing that Gilly didn’t mind her picking her brain about babies.

Sansa had learned so much, mostly about how parenthood is entirely guesswork and how every child is different.

Alden had eventually warmed up to her, and just like Lily, had been enamored with her braid. The three-year-old little boy didn’t talk very much, though when he did his words were clear and understandable. Gilly had tried to draw a correlation for him about the baby in Sansa’s belly and how she had had Lily in hers, but it had been too long ago for Alden’s little mind to remember.

In the laundry room, just before they walked out, Gilly paused, looking as though she wanted to say something. She was dragging the big laundry basket again, with Alden wrapped around her leg and Lily on her hip.

But then her expression changed, and Sansa wondered if Gilly was saying what she had originally thought of saying.

“Sandor was in a foul mood this morning, wasn’t he.” It was reaching, Sansa could tell, and she knew Gilly thought Sansa might have an explanation for it.

“He was, though he usually is,” she supplied. 

“He usually is, yes, but not around you.” And with that Gilly smiled and left her standing in the doorway, the small woman a force of nature as she wrangled two kids and a laundry basket back to the apartment door.

What did Gilly mean by that? It was  _ noticeable _ ? That Sandor seemed less of a grump when Sansa was around?

But then, Sansa thought back to the baby shower and how Sandor hadn’t left her side except to get them both food, and how he’d kept her cup full, and how his eyes had turned stormy whenever a man came over to give her a gift.

Was there something there? Was Sandor hoping to be more?

No, how could he, when he’d come into the laundry room just that morning and basically said she was too thin to have a healthy baby? Who  _ did _ that?? He was just as grumpy and rude as ever, despite the headway they’d made in their friendship yesterday.

So yes, he confused her, but he also infuriated her, and she was getting tired of it.

Tonight she’d talk to him, since he was due over for dinner after he got off work. She would talk to him, and she would get answers out of him.

She didn’t want a  _ friend _ who thought he could walk around insulting her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, Sandor couldn't exactly turn angel overnight.....


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the delay! Life in Alaska has its perks, but one of its downfalls in the winter is an awful flu season, and my oldest who has autism is its latest target. This last week has seen her spike a 105 fever, trips to the doctor and the ER, her body covered in hives... The list goes on. Its awful. We finally beat the fever; now we have to beat the laundry list of other symptoms she is currently afflicted with.
> 
> And for those of you who remember, we have a newborn in the house...
> 
> I'm posting now because updating with this short little chapter will reduce my stress more than you can imagine <3

Sandor had been in a mood all day. Seeing Sansa holding Gilly’s baby, her belly protruding beneath the baby’s butt, had made him want things he had no business wanting, and his co-workers ended up steering clear of him all day.

When he entered the apartment building later that night he was fairly itching for a fight, and the first thing he noticed was that her door was open. He was instantly angered at her carelessness, and stopped at her door, looking in but not crossing the threshold because he was covered in drywall dust and bits of drywall mud. 

“Sansa!” he called, his voice not even sounding pleasant to his own ears. 

She peeked her head around the doorway to her bedroom on the far wall.

“Oh! You’re here!” 

She was surprised to see him, which went against his thought that perhaps she had just opened her door, knowing about what time to expect him. When she went to speak, he interrupted her.

“You should keep this door shut. You don’t know what kind of weirdos are hanging out, or who could sneak into the building.”

Her face fell at his tone, and he could see her bristle from clear across the room.

“Sandor, go shower,” was all she said before she ducked back into her room, ignoring whatever protest he had on his lips.

He growled in frustration, then pulled her door shut, loudly enough that he knew she would hear it. Then he stalked to his apartment and cleaned up, all the while fuming and not really bothering to figure out why.

When he got back to her apartment he knocked on the  _ closed _ door, and waited for her to open it. She did so angrily, her eyes blazing at him.

For a moment he regretted how their evening was getting off to a rocky start, but that familiar battle of wills felt easier to swallow than the desire and possessiveness he was beginning to feel whenever he was around her. 

And she looked amazing tonight--in a pair of dark blue jeans with the same top she’d worn to the baby shower. He forced his eyes to remain on her face when all they wanted to do was drift downwards to the swell of her breasts over the gathered fabric that encased them.

_ Damn her _ .

“If you leave this door open, you’re inviting trouble,” he groused, stepping in before she shut it behind him, and then kicking his boots off just inside the door. She turned and stalked away, the sway of her butt in those dark blue jeans drawing his eye. The attraction he felt was like a poison, coursing through his veins as it threatened to seize his heart and kill him.

“Hello Sansa,” she said sarcastically as she pulled two plates from the cupboard. “How was your day? Mine was great. I was an ass to everyone, but it was great.” She didn’t look at him, and he would have laughed if he’d found anything about the situation amusing.

They fell into a silence that felt forced, as though it really wasn’t what they were meant to be doing, but there was nothing else to fall back on. He was upset that she would be so careless as to leave her door open, even if it was for him when he got home, which he was sure it was. She seemed to like to make her apartment welcoming by leaving it open, but then he had to worry that someone who wasn’t him might one day wander in, and she would regret it. Or he wouldn’t be around the protect her. It irked him that she wouldn’t think ahead like that.

Her desk in the corner was piled with mailing boxes, taped shut and ready to go. He guessed it was more of her orders, and a flash of pride that she was taking care of herself and her business went through him.

He kept silent, though. He was too mad for kind words.

Sansa was banging around in the kitchen and reluctantly, he stood at the counter and watched her stirring something in a pot.

“Do you need some help?” He crossed his arms over his chest, his body language daring her to reply.

“Not from you,” she ground out, back to him. The crossed arms were wasted, he thought.

“Drinks?” he asked, opening the fridge to see what she had. She quickly took down two glasses from the cabinet and put them on the counter beside him, setting them down more forcefully than was necessary.

She was obviously irritated with him, but it didn’t matter. She was standing there, hand on her hip while she stirred, and he had the perfect view of her round ass in those tight jeans, the curve of her waist almost hidden under the loose fabric of the shirt’s wide bottom, and the creamy expanse of neck left open by the wide neck of the burgundy top. On her front he knew he’d see the roundness of her belly, the evidence of her fertility and the hint of that sexy smooth skin underneath that he’d seen and touched just the night before.

He felt himself harden inside his jeans, and wanted to leave. He just wanted to get out of there, to get away from this perfect domesticity, of Sansa cooking at the stove while pregnant, of his imagination running wild with the things he wanted but couldn’t have.

He had already filled the glasses with water but he ignored them, and instead stalked over to the door.

“What are you doing?” 

Sansa’s voice came from the kitchen across the room, but she was no longer at the stove. She was standing inside the kitchen, just on the other side of the counter, looking at him now.

“I’m leaving.” 

He slid his feet into his boots, not bothering to tie them since he lived just next door. She was in front of him when he turned around, hands on her hips.

“What do you mean, leaving?”

“You don’t want me here,” he said, angrily.

“No, I don’t want grumpy you here, Sandor. I want the  _ nice _ you, my  _ friend _ .” 

She spat the last word at him, and he flinched. He didn’t think that was possible, that they could ever be friends. Not the way her breasts were heaving, the way her belly was begging for his touch, her mouth for his kiss. 

Or was that just his imagination?

Frustrated, he put one hand on his own hip while the other shoved his hair back from his face, unafraid to show her the grotesqueness of his disfigurement. His scars were on display, he knew, and if she didn’t like what she saw despite everything she’d ever told him about accepting them as part of him, then that was on her. He needed to get away, to push her away so she wasn’t being so damned perfect in his eyes.

“Why can’t you stay? Why do you have to be angry all the time? Sandor, I don’t understand why you’re being like this!”

Her face was a myriad of emotions--anger, confusion, frustration, supplication, and irritation. But he didn’t see there what he wanted to see, and it made him madder. 

“You’re not--you just--” 

_ Gods _ , he couldn’t even speak around her! 

She was messing with his brain, making him want things and frustrating him and being everything he never thought he would ever desire, and--

He put both his hands on either side of her face, his large palms spreading from the base of her jaw to back where his fingertips caressed the hair behind her ears, and he tilted her face at the same time he bent to press his mouth to hers, the blood rushing through his hears to the tune of his own heartbeat.

He didn’t want to speak, to think, he only wanted to  _ feel _ , and he did then--felt the softness of her mouth against his, her breath as it left her nose, the way his mustache and beard pressed against her skin, and the working of her muscles under his hands. 

She let out a whimper but his brain didn’t register it as a protest, so he pressed just slightly harder, letting her know he wasn’t messing around. Then he felt it--her fingertips ghosting over the front of his shirt, not pushing him away and not pulling him closer, but feeling him, as though waiting for either him or her to make a decision.

So he did. He dropped his hands and stepped back, bringing himself up to his full height but keeping his expression blank as he looked at her--flushed cheeks, wide eyes.

And anger. It flashed through her eyes a heartbeat before her hand came up and slapped him across the cheek--his good cheek.

He was stunned for a moment, head to the side with the impact of her palm, but then he slowly looked back at her, and his eyes narrowed to a glare.

He didn’t say anything as he turned and walked out, the resounding slam of her door the only farewell between them.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> But first, let's take out the trash...

Sansa woke up late the next day and worked through her frustration. She finished two custom orders and started a batch of plant hangers someone had inquired about, before realizing she’d skipped breakfast. So she stopped what she was doing and warmed up a bowl of the clam chowder she’d made for her and Sandor’s dinner, choking it down as memories of their evening assailed her.

_ Oh _ , why did they have to  _ argue so much? _ They’d had a good few days, sometimes awkward but he’d seemed to be warming up, becoming nicer.

And then last night had happened. Why had her leaving her door opened trigger such a tsunami of bitterness in him?? She didn’t know if she would ever understand.

Nor would she understand why his anger had culminated in the sweetest, gentlest kiss she’d ever experienced. She’d been so angry that when he had bent his lips to hers and kissed her, she was shocked into inaction. But then he had pressed into her, and her fingers had drifted up of their own accord, pressing lightly to that wall of a chest, and the moment was broken. 

Then the look he’d given her--even now she fumed at his expression from last night. Jaw clenched, complete indifference after leaving her so unsettled that he could have pushed her over with a feather. Had he done it for show? For sport? Because he most certainly could not have had any feelings behind it, not with the way he’d looked so coldly at her when he pulled away.

And so she slapped him. Sitting at her dining table now, she could still feel the sting of her fingertips where they had met the skin of his good cheek. She could see the expressionless gaze he’d given her afterwards, and then his strong back as he’d left.

And it was only after she’d sat on her couch crying out of anger and confusion for a half hour that she remembered she needed to put the clam chowder away or it would go bad.

Sleep eluded her last night, so today she was suffering for it, and she wasn’t going to let whatever game he was playing ruin her day.

The stack of boxes she needed to mail was waiting for her when she finished her lunch, and she decided it was time to mail them. So she dressed in a cool maternity dress and got to work, carting out the boxes a couple at a time until her back seat was crowded with the white and red boxes.

It took her a few minutes to reach the post office, but more time than she had expected to sort and mail them with the clerk behind the counter. When she was done she decided she needed some lemon cookies to soothe her, so she drove the short distance to the grocery store and picked up supplies she’d need to make a double batch.

When she at last pulled into the apartment building shortly after five, Sandor was outside mowing the lawn. She saw him glance at her but then go back to his work, so she gave him no more attention and strode up the path, unlocking the front door and entering without so much as waving at him.

But inside, she put down the armful of bags inside the door to her apartment and hid in the dark confines, watching him, unable to puzzle him out, to figure out why he acted the way he did. 

Surely there was no physical attraction there--she was as big as a bus, and getting bigger every day. But on her side, she couldn’t deny how good it had felt in that moment to feel his lips on hers, and to sense the scratchiness of his mustache on her face. 

And his hands,  _ Gods _ , his hands! So big and warm and gentle as they cupped her face.

She was going to drive herself crazy thinking about it, though, so she pushed those thoughts aside and put away her groceries. 

“Well, hello,” said the voice that sent shivers up her spine, and she turned in her kitchen to see Petyr standing inside her apartment. 

“You left your door open,” he said by way of explanation, a thin smile spread across his face. 

His short brown hair was perfectly combed as usual, and his blazer looked steamed to perfection. Sansa bristled. There was nothing about Petyr Baelish she liked.

“Letting yourself into my apartment, now?” she asked, though she kept the animosity out of her voice. He did, after all, give her the generous gift card for the baby shower.

“An open door is like an open invitation, my mother used to say. Tell me, have you turned Sandor away when your door has been open?”

Sansa froze.  _ What a creepy thing to say _ . But then, his words meant he had been watching, paying attention to things that were none of his business.

She attempted to smile and knew she failed miserably.

“Since that has nothing to do with you, I don’t see why I should have to answer. Now, if you will please leave I have work to do this evening.” He didn’t have to know it was making cookies.

If anything, his smile just got wider, though he didn’t move any further into the room.

“Yes, well, if you and he aren't getting along, perhaps I’ll stop by more often? It was lovely to see you again, Sansa.” He turned towards the door, offering over his shoulder, “Until next time, dear.” 

Then he was gone.

The whole exchange made her shudder as she walked past the cloud of cologne he had left in her apartment to shut and lock the door behind him. The more she spoke with Petyr Baelish, the more she knew she should stay as far away from him as possible.

She was laying out everything on her counter when something he said crossed her mind again, about her and Sandor not getting along. How would he know if her and Sandor had had a falling out? She could imagine someone as sneaky as Petyr having microphones hidden everywhere, and the thought made her afraid of him. Petyr had his own brand of power, and she wanted to avoid it at all costs. 

But that proved less and less possible as the days wore on. It seemed like the more Petyr realized she was not keeping in contact with Sandor, the more he showed up. The next time was a week later when he brought her flowers, though this time he did have to knock on the door. However, he’d let himself in anyway when she was almost to the door to open it for him, and she had turned him away after accepting them.

They promptly made their way into the trash can.

The time after that it was him cornering her in the parking lot, having just pulled her heavily pregnant body out of her low car. She was still standing between her door and the car when he’d appeared behind her, standing much too close for comfort. And that time he laid a hand on her shoulder, asking her how she was doing and how the pregnancy was progressing.

It took a stern brush off, but he got the message, or so it seemed.

Then a month after her last argument with Sandor, a month after they had shared that tame yet stunning kiss, Petyr pushed her too far. He knocked on her door one night after she had eaten dinner and was already in a comfortable tank top and pajama pants. She’d thrown on a robe and tied it above her belly, and opened the door.

“Petyr, I’m not in the mood for visitors,” she told him, and it was the truth. She’d had a long day of working on custom orders and just wanted to relax with music drifting from the speaker Sandor had given her.

Petyr’s cologne wafted through the door, even stronger than it had been in the past, and she felt nauseous even though her days of true morning sickness were long behind her.

“Ah, well--” he quickly slipped by her, almost pushing her to the side to slide past her into the apartment. “I’m not here to visit, Sansa. And I think we both know why I’m here.”

“Petyr, get out!” She said it loudly for him, but she suddenly wondered if anyone else in the building would hear her if she screamed. Surely Sandor would, right?

Petyr stepped closer, those beady eyes taking in the V of skin above the neckline of her robe, and his hands came up to reach for her waist. 

Sansa batted them away as he chuckled, “Now, now, Sansa, we both knew where this was leading.” 

“Get your hands off me!” she told him as his hands beat past hers to encapsulate her waist. But she wasn’t strong enough to push his forearms down, and his grip was too strong. She began to feel pressure, and she was sure he was going to leave bruises.

“Calm down, pretty girl, just stop fighting it.” 

Gods, that voice! It was smooth like silk and felt like a noose around her neck. Amidst her  _ No’ _ s and  _ Don’t touch me _ ’s he somehow wound his arm around her and pulled her against him, her belly squished between their bodies as his foul, minty breath washed over her face, making her gag.

“Petyr,  _ let me go!! _ ” 

“Get your fucking hands off her, you piece of shit…” 

_ Oh gods _ . Sansa didn’t know if she should feel scared of that other deep, murderous voice, or thankful that it meant saving was just moments away. But suddenly Petyr was wrenched off of her, his hands not quite grasping ahold of her robe enough as Sandor dragged him backwards and into the hallway. 

“I’ll kill you for this! You bastard, I’ll--” Petyr was yelling, but his tirade was cut off by a big fist in his face, and he went down in a slump of expensive clothes.

“What’s going on??” The door to Tormund’s apartment opened and from her own door, where Sansa was standing, wrapped in her robe and shivering, she could see the big redhead come out wearing nothing but sweatpants. His beard was wild, as was his hair, and he looked from her to Petyr and back again, obviously putting together what had happened.

He looked at Sandor, a sly grin spreading on his face. “Are we going to rough him up?”

Goodness, Tormund’s face looked positively hungry for action. Sansa couldn’t watch--she turned and walked back into her apartment, pushing the door closed behind her before a hand appeared and held it open.

“Sansa,” came her name in Sandor’s voice, and she turned. 

She really just wanted to go take a shower, to wash her clothes and get the scent of Petyr off her robe. Then she wanted to go to bed and forget this ever happened.

When she didn’t answer him he walked up to her, putting a finger under her chin to lift her face to his. 

“Did he hurt you?”

The look in Sandor’s eyes was concerned yet murderous, and she wondered, if Tormund hadn’t shown up would Sandor have taken Petyr’s beating further. She didn’t know if she wanted to know.

His eyes were dark, and he was breathing hard through his nose, his nostrils flaring slightly with every inhale. He was searching her face, hands on her shoulders, upper arms--

“The baby?”

“Sandor, I’m okay, really. He just grabbed me right before you came in. I’m okay. Thank you,” she added, though her voice sounded weak even to herself.

Sandor growled deep in his throat, and he left her long enough to tell Tormund to  _ Drag the fucker outside _ .

Then he turned back to Sansa, his fists clenching at his sides until his knuckles were white.

Sansa couldn’t take the smell anymore. She untied the robe and slipped it off her shoulder.

“This stinks now,” she said, and she dropped it on the floor behind the couch. She’d wash it tomorrow.

But then Sandor was sinking to his knee, turning her sideways to inspect the skin at her sides where her tank top had ridden up. He had a hand on her back and one on her arm, guiding her sideways so he could inspect the red marks left by Petyr’s hands.

“I’ll kill him,” he ground out, turning her the other way to look at the other side, though there he had to lift her tank top to see the marks. He reached out and gently traced them with his fingers, shaking his head. 

“I’m gonna kill him,” he said again, and when he stood, Sansa’s breath was coming out fast and short. She didn’t know why--either the adrenaline rushing through her system, or the feel of Sandor’s fingers on her skin. 

But it didn’t matter, because his next words were like a punch to the solar plexus.

“Why did you have him in here? Why was he in your apartment? Why have you been meeting with him? He’s dangerous, Sansa, and you should have known better. Should have  _ known _ not to let him into your apartment!”

Sansa’s initial shock quickly gave way to anger, and she closed her eyes to keep from yelling. She could hear Tormund’s grunts and the door of the building closing as he had apparently done what Sandor had told him to do.

She took a deep breath, and nodded, though not in agreement with Sandor. She nodded because, she should have known. Should have known Sandor would take this stance--that a near assault, sexual or otherwise, would once again be her fault. She should have known that he wouldn’t see anything from her perspective, and she nodded again, understanding that he never would, never could quite be her friend. Neighbors, yes. Acquaintances, perhaps. But not friends. The thought made her incredibly sad. 

She opened her eyes and looked up at him, at the lips that had kissed her just a month prior, and to hands that had held her face so gently, and she felt herself giving up. If Sandor ever wanted to be friends, or more, it would be up to him. He’d have to change, not her.

She had bigger things to focus on, like the baby in her belly, and perhaps an order of protection against Petyr. 

But tomorrow. Yes, tomorrow she would think on that.

She was so tired. 

“Goodnight, Sandor. Thank you for taking care of that for me.” 

She was calm, cool, and collected as she put a small hand on his arm and directed him back towards her door. 

Once he was out, never having looked up again at his face, she saw his feet turn him towards her as she closed and locked the door.


	17. Chapter 17

It had been two weeks since Tormund and he had taken Petyr by the collar and roughed him up outside. It was good to see that Sandor wasn’t the only one who was tired of Baelish harassing the women of the building. When they were done, Petyr was only too happy to pack his things and get a hotel for the night, with Tormund and Sandor promising to oversee the packing of his entire apartment the next day.

So when Tormund saw Sandor in the hallway one day after work, cold beer in hand as he walked back from the laundry room, Sandor finally accepted the invitation with the big ginger and, after showering and cleaning up after work, wandered into the apartment on the opposite side of the ground floor from his own.

It was definitely a man’s apartment, with brown leather seating in the living room, a massive flat screen TV, and take-out containers overflowing in the trash can. There were clothes everywhere, and Tormund made no apologies for Sandor having to move a pile over on the couch in order to sit down. 

It was disgusting, but then, so was the ginger’s mind.

“I s’pose you’ve seen me with that Brienne?” 

Sandor sipped the dark IPA, liking the coldness and wondering why he hadn’t done this sooner. He looked over at Tormund and nodded, wondering where he was going with it.

Apparently he wasn’t going anywhere.

“ _ Ahhh _ , what a woman.” 

Tormund leaned back in the recliner and stared at the ceiling, though Sandor got the feeling he was actually picturing the big blonde.

“She good for you?” Sandor didn’t really know what else to ask. He’d never been one to make small talk with men.

Or anyone, really.

“Oh, gods, yes!” 

Tormund looked over at Sandor, eyes wide and grin bright, his orange beard looking as though it had been hit by a hurricane. The man needed a trim, badly. 

“She’s amazing. I don’t know why I didn’t approach her sooner. Honestly, I’m surprised she hasn’t been snatched up before, she’s so delectable.” 

Sandor wondered if they were talking about the same woman. The six foot tall blonde who lived upstairs, who had legs a mile long, biceps that rivaled, well… Not his or Tormund’s, but surely a normal man’s. Breasts proportionally small for a body that size. Demeanor more like a piece of wood than a woman.

He was saying the description out loud, his eyebrow raised in Tormund’s direction as he spoke and as the other man’s grin spread impossibly wide.

“That’s the one,” he said, a bark of laughter caught by the opening of his bottle. He took a long pull and sighed, then shot a glance at Sandor that said he was imparting some extremely important knowledge with his next words.

“She’s full of fire, and fireworks and whatever fuck else a woman can be full of. Shit, I can’t wait to get her in bed.”

“It hasn’t happened yet?” Sandor could imagine Tormund having the sex drive of a rabbit.

“Gods, no. Tryin’ to respect her, you know? Respect her like she deserves. She’s a gem, and I don’t aim to lose her.” Another long pull and his beer was gone--ah, he had a second on the end table next to him. In seconds he’d set the first one aside, twisted off the top of the second, and drained a third of it before speaking again.

“No no, a woman needs respect, needs to be treated like a man likes to be treated.” 

Sandor’s eyebrow went up. He wasn’t sure if he should be listening, or taking advice from this insane carrot top, but this was something he’d never heard before.

“All that shit about women need love and men need respect, well it’s true to a point.”

Said the man who had reached his mid-30s without being married once.

“All that flowery shit is nice--the gifts, flattery,  _ yes, honey, your ass looks great in that dress _ . But they also need to know we trust them, and I can tell Brienne is a one-man woman. And I tell her so, when I tell her I’m that man.” 

Sandor could have counted the man’s teeth with the grin he sent over the short space between them.

“She’ll be mine, you just watch. I know how to win a woman, even a woman as strong and independent as Brienne. I aim to have her til death do us part, just you watch.” Another pull, and the beer was almost gone. 

“Heed my words, Sandor--girls want love.” He winked, and Sandor had to look away for a moment before Tormund spoke again. “Women want respect.”

The redheaded man suddenly jumped up, jogging the short distance to his fridge and yelling, “Go long!”

Sandor was lucky he had good reflexes, because that beer would have hit him square in the face.

“Good fucking catch!” 

Tormund plopped back into the recliner, literally hopped over the armrest and bounced in the middle of it. Sandor wondered how often he went through furniture. 

“It slipped at the last minute, I was aiming for your lap.”

Sandor polished off the first beer and twisted open the second, dropping the empty bottle on the floor next to him while they spoke.

Sandor had been staring at his bottle’s label, wondering what it would be like to live in a place covered in snow like the scene depicted there, when Tormund spoke. 

“So, what’s going on between you and your lady?” The ginger was looking at him with that infernal grin and an eyebrow raised almost clear to his hairline. Sandor almost laughed at the ridiculousness of Tormund’s assumption.

“I don’t have a woman,” he replied, his voice low. He wasn’t about to pour his heart out to Tormund--despite living next to each other for a few years, Sandor didn’t know him at all.

“ _ Bullshit _ ! Everyone in the building knows about you two lovebirds.” Tormund barked out a laugh and finished the second beer. 

Where did all that liquid go??

He went on, “No one argues the way you two do without being lovebirds. I’m surprised you ain’t fucking yet!”

Sandor bristled.  _ What the fuck _ ??

“How do you know we aren’t??” he demanded, wondering what the hell Tormund was getting at. The ginger laughed then, and pointed a finger at him.

“Because you’d be one happy fucker if you were getting any!” Then he cackled--fucking cackled at Sandor!

“Fuck, man. What the fuck are you on about?”

“I’m just fucking with you, Sandor.” Then he proved just how amazingly he could flip a switch and become the brow-furrowed, intense carrot head that he suddenly became now.

“Seriously, man. I’d hang onto that one.” Another quick swig of beer and Sandor thought for sure Tormund worked his eyebrows at the gym.

“Fuck, Tormund, she’s carrying another man’s baby.”

“Aye, and I’ve seen the way you look at that belly. Don’t think I wasn’t watching you at that party for her.” The grin was there, paired with now lowered eyebrows. Together they looked like one hell of a knowing smirk. “You  _ want _ the belly, don’tcha?”

Sandor almost blushed. Almost.

“What I don’t understand,” Tormund went on, saving Sandor from having to answer that question, “and what everyone else in the building doesn’t understand, is why you haven't staked your claim yet.”

Sandor choked on the beer. He coughed and sputtered, much to Tormund’s delight, then sent the ginger an irritated look.

“What the fuck are you talking about,  _ everyone _ ? What the hell do you guys do, get together for a fucking sewing circle and discuss my love life?”

Tormund and that fucking grin again.

“No, we talk about your  _ lack _ of a  _ sex _ life.”

Sandor let his head fall back against the couch and closed his eyes.

“Fucking hell…”

“And we happen to think this young woman might just be your ticket to eternal bliss.”

“Yeah? Who’s  _ we _ ?”

“Davos--” Sandor sat up fast, “--Sam and Gilly, the ladies upstairs. Fuck, man, Renly and Loras are about ready to hold a bedding for you two if you won’t get your head out of your ass.” 

Tormund leaned back at Sandor’s narrowed eyes, but he continued, “How about a  _ naked _ pregnant woman to make you see what you’re refusing to see?”

Sandor stood suddenly, fists clenched, enraged at the picture Tormund was presenting.

_ No one _ was going to touch Sansa in that or any other manner. Ever. If they did, they’d be delivered a fate worse than Baelish’s.

But Tormund stood at the same time, his height impressive but nowhere near Sandor’s towering six and a half feet. He held up both hands as Sandor fumed, smiling to defuse the larger man’s ire.

The fucker  _ grinned _ at him, and then pointed at him as though Sandor were his own punchline.

“Did you feel that? Huh? That anger inside you at what I said?” Tormund hooted a laugh and slapped his thigh, shaking his head as he gathered up both of their empty bottles and dropped them in the sink--likely because the trash was too full.

“You see? That’s love there, brother. You love the little lady and I just made you see fifty shades of fuckin’ red.” 

He walked back over to the living room, where Sandor hadn’t moved from his spot. His voice softened, though only barely. It was enough that Sandor detected it.

“I was joking, man. But for fuck’s sake--if you don’t grab her, someone fucking will, you bet your ass on that.” Tormund held up his fingers. “She’s pretty--” Sandor growled, “--Smart, kind, and I hear she’s growing one hell of a home-based business, so--” he held up all ten of his fingers, “--Fuckin’ responsible, level-headed entrepreneur.” 

His bushy red eyebrows went up as he whacked Sandor in the chest with his fist.

“Seriously, man. Seriously...  _ Someone else _ .” He narrowed his eyes at the same time that eyebrow rose sky high, as he said the words, nodding for emphasis.

Well, for fuck’s sake. 

Sandor had thought it was just going to be a beer, not a fucking therapy session.

Just then, Brienne walked through the door, brought up short by the sight of Sandor. Obviously she hadn’t expected anyone else to see her enter Tormund’s apartment without knocking.

“Time for you to go, brother,” Tormund said, not even looking at Sandor, who watched Brienne roll her eyes as Tormund descended on her with arms spread wide.

“Yeah, uh… “ 

Brienne didn’t smile when she said, “Bye.”

~≈~≈~

Sansa didn’t see Sandor for another two weeks. She couldn’t tell if he was avoiding her, or if he was busy working. His truck was usually gone in the morning, and he often got home late in the evening, after she’d already gotten undressed and was working in the comfort of her living room, music flowing through the air from her speaker.

She used the gift every day, which meant she had Sandor on her mind every day. It had been a month and a half since he’d kissed her, and barely two weeks since he had saved her from Petyr’s assault. As much as she tried to remember how awful he was, and how hurt she’d been at his thoughtless accusations, she missed seeing him. Out of everyone in the building, it was he who was on her mind every day.

Word was, according to Gilly, that they were going to be getting new tenants soon. It was a one bedroom apartment that Petyr had vacated, and Sansa sincerely hoped Jaime did a better vetting process for his next tenant.

Before the tenant was due to move in, Renly and Loras had announced they would like to have their wedding in the backyard. At eight months pregnant, Sansa was enormous. Or at least, she thought so. But because of that, Renly and Loras had told her she would be bowing this one out--they didn’t want a collapsing pregnant woman standing in the bridesmaid line and fainting during the ceremony.

Though they had had a good laugh over that, Sansa was indeed relieved. She liked them both a lot, but there was only so much she would do for someone at this late stage in her pregnancy.

She was involved in the planning, and often spent an hour or two in the afternoons at their  _ Den Of Iniquity _ , as Tormund called it. 

One joke about Tormund stripping at the reception and suddenly Sansa worried that Brienne would be corrupted if she spent any time with them. The worry was gone the very next day when a very satisfied and a blushing Brienne was caught by Sansa and Loras coming out of Tormund’s apartment, Brienne frantically trying to disentangle the large ginger from around her body. 

It took a few moments for them to realize they weren’t alone, and in those moments it became painfully apparent to Sansa and Loras that the two giants had not only consummated their relationship, but according to Tormund’s begging and Brienne’s admonishing had done it several times. 

Brienne’s  _ Enough is enough _ had elicited unfortunate giggles out of both Sansa and Loras.

The planning of the wedding wasn’t hard, as they were going to keep it simple with Davos officiating, and the wedding party being made up solely of building residents. 

When Tormund had heard Brienne was to be a groomsmen, he’d sputtered and frothed at the mouth (though that could also have been his beer), and demanded that when it was time to dance he would  _ not _ be dancing with one of the other two ladies in that apartment, but  _ only _ with Brienne. Once that was agreed upon, all else went smoothly.

Sandor would also not be participating, but that was more because his scars would have been on display for the few unknown friends that would be attending. 

However, he  _ was _ expected to attend.

And of course it fell to Sansa to deliver the invitation, Renly being so kind as to at least escort her to the bottom of the stairs from his apartment before taking them two at a time to return.

_ He could have done this himself, the brat _ , she thought as she waddled to Sandor’s door.

Getting around lately had not been fun, as Sansa’s hips felt very strange and her stomach was constantly getting in the way. She had to raise her steering wheel as high as it would go just to fit in her car, which made driving incredibly awkward. She wasn’t able to reach the pedals if she scooted her seat back any further than it already was.

She’d had to get new maternity clothes as well, and had opted for a couple more dresses because pants just were not working for her. She hated maternity pants, and none of her old ones fit, so she forwent those in favor of the loose, comfortable, empire-waist dresses.

And if they made her look like she wore a tent, then so what? At least she was comfortable.

She was wearing one today, a jersey dress that hugged her breasts and draped down to just above her knees. The straps were thin and her bra was overflowing, but she’d already gone up a whole cup size and knew a bigger bra was warranted, but was waiting to get nursing bras instead.

So when Sandor opened the door at her knock it was no wonder his eyes immediately went to her bursting cleavage.

“Hey,” she said, her tone sardonic. “Eyes up here, buster.”

But they didn’t. Instead they went to her stomach, and widened.

“You’re big,” he said simply, as though he was stating a rose was red. Sansa rolled her eyes and shoved the invitation at him. 

“Sunday, two o’clock, casual dress. They want you to be there, and I may need help getting in and out of my chair. You’re hired.” 

She didn’t want to spend any more time at his door than necessary, as she still wasn’t entirely sure what she wanted from him. Less insults and nagging, more kisses and touches? 

Yes, but she sure as hell wasn’t going to tell him that.

It was bad enough that he was taking a starring role in her dreams lately, and they all seemed to revolve around ways he could bring her to orgasm. 

She blushed at the thought, and backed away from the door. Keeping a hand on the stairwell railing behind her, she turned and walked until she had to let go, and eased over to her doorway, feeling his eyes on her the whole way.


	18. Chapter 18

The day of the wedding Sansa wore another of her new dresses, though this was the only fitted one she owned. The palest yellow fabric wrapped her snugly from breast to knee, with lace along the edge of the neckline. It was a bit fancier than her others and so she thought it would work well for this special occasion.

And just as he’d been tasked, Sandor showed up ten minutes before the music was set to start for the ceremony, telling the strange man she’d been sitting next to, one of Renly’s friends, that he was in Sandor’s seat.

“That was rude,” Sansa admonished, but she couldn’t ignore the shiver that made her scalp tingle when he leaned over to speak into her ear. 

“So were his eyes on your breasts.”

Okay, she hadn’t noticed that, but she was shocked when she glanced over at him as his eyes came back up to land on her face. She gave him a glare, remembering the way he’d reacted so coldly to their kiss--that  _ he _ had initiated!

“What’s your excuse?” she asked haughtily, but realized it may have been a mistake to point out he’d been caught.

His only response was a slight flaring of his nostrils and the darkening of his eyes, but it was enough. Sansa was flustered. He might as well have doused himself in pheromones, so obvious was his interest in her. 

It didn’t make any sense--why would he have kissed her and shown such tenderness to her, and then be like a cold fish afterwards, only to openly ogle at her cleavage now? 

Sansa filed away that information for another time as she turned to the woman on her right, one of Renly’s co-workers. Now was not the time to try to solve the enigma that was the man sitting on her other side.

When the music started and everyone turned, they watched the pairs walk out of the back door of the apartment, heading to the small arbor that had been set up at the back of the lawn, where Davos and Renly now stood in very smart-looking suits. The audience numbered only about fifteen people, but it was going to be a beautiful ceremony. 

Renly had rented some white chairs and Loras had decorated the backyard with what must have been the main portion of their budget in flowers, but it was gorgeous. The arbor itself was a maze of vines, and its roses matched the rainbow assortment that decorated the aisle chairs and the food tables.

First came Sam and Gilly, then Brienne and Margaery, and finally Tormund and Daenerys, who all took their places lined up to the sides of the arbor. Then finally, Loras came walking out on the arm of a man Sansa didn’t recognize, who walked him up to the front to the music while the audience stood. Sandor helped Sansa with a hand at her elbow, and she tried not to concentrate on him when she knew he was towering over her at her back.

The ceremony itself was short, and before long Renly was leaning in to give Loras such a smoldering kiss that hoots and hollers went up from the people who had gathered to watch this beautiful event.

“This is so nice,” Sansa murmured, though she realized Sandor had been paying attention to her when he leaned down to hear her over the din of clapping.

“They’re happy,” he simply said, nodding, agreeing with her. Then, “Let’s go congratulate them,” and this time he held out an arm for her to hold onto while he pulled her up. He left his arm for her to hold and she didn’t let go, as she navigated her larger body through the close chairs to walk up to Renly and Loras.

~≈~≈~

Sandor was having a hard time breathing. It had started when he’d found her talking to the man who kept shooting glances down the front of her dress, and it had worsened when he’d taken the man’s place and realized his folly at being so much taller than her--offering him the perfect vantage point to do the exact same thing.

Then he’d had to touch her to help her stand, finally seeing for the first time her pregnant body in perfect silhouette, with her wearing a garment that completely encased her body and showed every pregnant curve. It took monumental effort on his part to not just stand back and gaze at her as though she was on display at a museum.

Then to make matters worse, he now had to keep her steady while they made their way over to where the happy couple was accepting congratulations.

They approached Renly and Loras just as the space in front of them was clearing of people, so it was the four of them exchanging hugs and handshakes as Sansa and Sandor congratulated them.

“I’m so happy for you, Loras,” she was telling the younger man, who beamed at her. As she stepped back from the hug Sandor couldn’t help but glance at how the yellow fabric showed off the curve of her ass, and he fought the flare of arousal that threatened to give him away.

_ Petyr Baelish. Petyr Baelish.  _ Sandor thought of the most revolting human being he knew and felt himself come back into control of his body.

“Yes, I’ve taken Renly for my own, so no more flirting, Sandor.” Sansa’s mouth fell open as Sandor grimaced, and she covered hers with her hand as she laughed.

Renly nodded sagely, an exaggerated serious look on his face. 

“This is true, Sandor.” Sandor coughed but Renly kept talking. “No more trying to steal Loras from me, young man.” 

Sansa giggled as he even wagged a finger in admonishment at Sandor.

Then she blushed furiously as Loras added, “Besides, you already have your hands full with this one,” giving a pointed look at her cleavage.

Despite the beautiful blush stealing across her skin, Sandor growled and led Sansa away from them, much to their delight. When they were a good distance away he slowed to a stop. He was going to go insane, he was sure of it.

After that talk with Tormund it was now impossible to ignore that he wanted her. And he wanted her bad. Every part of her, even that baby inside her belly. He wanted-- _ Gods _ , it was so hard to even  _ think _ the words--he wanted to be the father, and to be the one she turned to when she was sad or unhappy, the one she slept with every night, and the one whom she greeted every day when he came home from work.

But at the same time, he had to watch her traipse around now, looking sexy as hell, fucking blooming with that pregnancy, and showing off more skin than he wanted other men looking at.

Unable to help himself, it was that last thing that came tumbling out of his mouth now, instead of any of the rest of his thoughts.

“You couldn’t pick something more appropriate to wear?”

He watched Sansa’s good humor die from her face.

“Excuse me?” Her words were quiet but they held a warning, which he ignored.

“You’ve got every man here looking at you, and you’re just lapping it up.”

Sansa wrenched her arm out of his grasp and stepped back, though her expression softened and her eyes darted around as though she suddenly realized she didn’t want to make a scene.

“You have a lot of nerve, Sandor,” she said, and then she turned to walk towards the back door of the building.

She tensed when he followed her, his footsteps sounding on the deck behind hers as she pulled open the door. Her hair fell down her back like a waterfall of red, and he wanted to reach out and touch it, and to see if it was as soft as he remembered. 

But as the door closed, she turned on him.

“How  _ dare _ you comment on my clothing choice.” 

She pointed a finger at him and poked him in the chest, saying, “You have no say in what I wear, or what I do,” her eyes turned heated as he backed up a step, into the wall, “Or what I eat, or what I do with my time, or anything else for that matter!” 

She stepped into his space, almost so her belly was touching him, and looked up at him, hands on her hips. 

“Tell me, Sandor! Why do you always have to have an  _ opinion _ ,” she spat, “about something having to do with me? Why do you have to always have a  _ problem _ with me?”

She was gorgeous when she was mad. He knew that now, though that certainly wasn’t why he always seemed to rile her up. It was just a bonus.

But he knew she spoke the truth--he  _ did _ always have an opinion about her, and about the things she did, the choices she made, and now, about how she dressed.  _ But come on _ , he thought.  _ Those breasts will haunt me tonight in my dreams! _

Then she crossed her arms underneath them, looking as though she was trying to look stern and upset, when all she did was further put them on display and he just couldn’t take it anymore.

He turned and stalked away towards his apartment, leaving her in the hallway.

“No, Sandor!” 

She called out to him but he didn’t slow, digging his key out of his pocket as he reached his door. She came up to him then, walking as quickly as she could, up to him in his peripheral vision. 

“Don’t walk away from me, I asked you a question and I want you to answer it! Why is everything I do never good enough for you?”

But he did walk away from her, wanting to put distance between him and the way her chest moved with each breath, wanting to put distance between him and the woman who filled his thoughts during the day, and whom apparently everyone but him had seen he was completely in love with.

And he  _ was _ in love with her, which is why it was so hard being around her, watching other men look at her, knowing she lived for her child when he wanted her to live for both the baby and himself. He wanted her to be his, and it would never be that way.

But that didn’t stop him from turning to her when he was in front of his couch, only to find her right behind him, that furious, confused look on her face. 

She wanted answers and he was going to give them to her, whether she liked it or not.

This kiss was passionate, and when he hauled her against him and brought his mouth to hers, he was surprised when this time her arms came up around his neck and she kissed him back, angling her head to give him better access to her mouth.

She was glorious--all fire and light and energy in his arms. Her belly wasn’t even in the way, since he had to lean down to reach her anyway. But the way her back arched over his arms, and the way she moaned into his mouth as their tongues played and tangled with each other, drove an intense heat to his groin and meant he was hard in an instant.

It took only a moment for him to break the kiss and drop down onto the couch, and she needed even less prompting to sink down onto her knees, straddling his lap as she bent  _ her _ head to  _ him _ this time, her hands going across his cheeks and scar and into his hair. The tight fabric of her dress rode up her thighs until he knew it was just inches away from revealing her choice of panties.

His hands were all over her, doing what they had wanted to do for months--feeling her shoulders, her waist, her back, coming around to span the sides of her belly and her hips and thighs.

He avoided her breasts, thinking that if he got those in his hands he likely wouldn’t want to let go. But as she moved her mouth to his cheek, forehead, and to his temple, then let her head drift back so his mouth could leave a trail of kisses down the column of her throat, he knew where his mouth would end up.

And so did she, as his mouth kissed across the faintly freckled skin and down to the swell of breasts over a bra that must have been too small. She rose up on her knees to improve the angle of his mouth, hands tightening in his hair as she did so. He wanted nothing more to reach into her top and pull them out for his mouth to feast on, and even started to do just that--he slipped a hand into one side of her dress and felt the hard bud of her nipple--had it between his fingers as her mouth came back to his--when the sound of a door shutting suddenly brought them out of the fog of passion they’d been drowning in.

Sansa sat up fast and Sandor reluctantly removed his hand from inside the front of her dress, but when he looked up at her face her mouth was open, reddened from their kisses.

Sansa glanced over and at the same time, they both saw his door stood wide open, so that anyone in the hallway could have seen what they were doing in his living room. And truthfully, with the slamming of that door, it was likely that someone already had.

She scrambled off his lap and straightened her dress, pressing the back of a hand to her mouth as she looked at him and to the door and back again.

Then her eyes narrowed, and she started to shake.

“No,” she said quietly, and then she shook her head just once, her hair a tangled mess about her shoulders. She was so beautiful, standing there in that tight yellow dress, that he wanted to go to her. But when he made to stand she held up a hand.

“Sandor, the last time you kissed me you also left, and I won’t put up with that. I…” She swallowed, taking in the rumpled shirt, his own messy hair, the bulge in the front of his pants.

“This will not happen again,” she said resolutely, and she walked out, one hand braced on her back and one wrapped underneath her stomach, closing the door as she left.

Sandor sat on his couch for a long while, feeling his ardor recede as his confusion mounted.

He had reacted to her questioning the only way he’d known how--by showing her what she did to him, what he wanted to do to her, how she made him feel. 

But he hadn’t expected her reaction.

_ Holy hell _ . He didn’t know what to do.

A knock sounded at his door, and in a daze he got up to answer it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well... Even I don't know what to say after this chapter.
> 
> Hope you guys liked it <3


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve given birth to four babies and have never been to a birthing class (such a rebel...), soooo…. This is what I thought a birthing class would be like 😊

“Sandor,” Sam said through the open door of Sandor’s apartment, though the big man’s cheeks were slightly red. Sandor nodded, not sure if he had it in him to actually say words after what just happened between he and Sansa.

“May I come in?”

_ What? _ No one ever asked if they could come into his apartment. Sandor almost wondered if a strange illness was permeating the air today.

He stepped aside and Sam walked in, though he didn’t move to sit. Rather, he turned with his hands clasped, and the look on his face made Sandor remember what had just happened on the couch.

“It was you,” he said, and Sam had the gumption to just nod. “Well--”

“Look, I’m not here to lecture you on the merits of closing your doors.” 

Sandor’s mouth snapped shut. 

Sam--nice, affable, kind-hearted Sam--had just interrupted him. 

Perhaps it  _ was _ a poison in the air.

Sam went on, “I just needed to… to tell you something. A story, if you will.” 

He looked so uncomfortable, shifting from one foot to the other while he wrung his hands that Sandor took pity on him and motioned for the couch. Once Sam sat, Sandor took the chair and waited for Sam to speak.

“There was a period in my life where Gilly and I knew each other, but we weren’t together.”

Sandor couldn't help it--he rolled his eyes.

“What I’m saying is, we wanted different things. Or, at least, I thought we wanted different things. I was working towards my degree and Gilly was living with another man, who wasn’t very nice to her. But I didn’t want to come between them, even if they were already in a doomed relationship.

“But then she moved out from that man’s house and into her own apartment, and  _ still _ I didn’t pick up on her hints that she wanted to be with me. I had a plan and for the time being, she wasn’t in it.”

Sandor wondered if he should offer the man a beer, just to calm his nerves. It wasn’t that Sam was afraid of him or nervous around him, but Sandor got the feeling Sam was getting at something that he wanted Sandor to know.

“What I’m trying to say,” he slowed down his words, “Is that  _ Gilly… _ pursued  _ me _ .”

He paused, looking intently at Sandor, as though Sandor was supposed to glean some sort of wisdom off of that announcement.

He shook his head, sure that if prompted, Sam would have more to say . And he was right.

“I’m saying that you and Gilly have a lot in common in this respect--you both want, or wanted, someone who didn’t know they also wanted  _ you _ .”

_ Oh _ . So Sam was saying…

“You are going to have to convince her, Sandor… Convince her that you care for her.” The man blushed and looked away. “And that doesn’t mean assaulting her on your couch.” His eyes shot up to Sandor’s before looking away, and then they were back again, more confident the second time. 

Sandor was trying to process what he was saying. So Sam knew that in kissing Sansa, Sandor was trying to show he cared? And Sam was saying that that was indeed  _ not _ the way to do it?

It took a lot for Sandor to say his next thought out loud, and when he did, his voice was a low rasp, as though there was a risk that someone besides Sam would hear him speak them.

“I don’t follow.”

Sam showed a hesitant smile then, and nodded. “I thought you might not.”

Sandor didn’t want to scare the man, so he merely raised his eyebrow.

“What I’m trying to say,” Sam said, as though speaking to a child, “Is that you should do what Gilly did for me, and that was… woo me.”

“ _ Woo _ you?”

“Well, you would woo Sansa.” Sam laughed nervously. “I don’t like you  _ that _ much.”

Sandor closed his eyes, wanting to drop all humor and get to the main event. 

“And how did Gilly… woo… you.” He felt ridiculous using that word, but if it got Sam talking…

Sandor suddenly thought of the talk he’d had with Tormund, who felt the need to point out that Sandor loved Sansa, even if he didn’t realize it. And now he was talking to Sam, who had decided to take it upon himself to explain to Sandor how to win-- _ woo _ \--Sansa. 

Could this mean he really had no clue? And that he actually had a chance? Surely if two separate men who were completely different from one another, chose to give him advice on dating and winning the woman of his heart, that must mean something--that perhaps the men in question actually thought he had a chance. 

And that would be, well… perfect. Right?

So he listened to Sam, and they talked about what he could do, what he shouldn’t do, and what Gilly did that eventually caught Sam’s attention and won him over. And when it was time for Sam to go, Sandor felt like slipping the man into his pocket, as he suddenly seemed to be a wealth of knowledge that Sandor, up until this afternoon, wasn’t aware of. 

It was an intimidating thought, and one he was going to have to get used to. He was about to embark on some intimidating tasks.

~≈~≈~

“Birthing class?” 

Sansa hadn’t thought about going to one, mostly because she thought those were for couples. And she was not part of a couple.

“Yes, Sam and I did it with Alden and it worked out great--we really learned a lot.” 

Gilly sipped from her coffee, watching Alden play as Lily rolled around on the clean carpet of her living room. Sansa sat across from her at the table, her own decaf coffee sitting in front of her, half gone already. She’d been incredibly thirsty lately, and didn’t seem to be able to drink enough.

Which was funny, because she was sure Sandor heard the toilet flush at all hours of the night. Sansa felt like she was getting up fifty times every night just to pee. Two more weeks, she would say. Only two more weeks and then this weight would be off her bladder.

“Well, I suppose I could, since it’s free, but I’d be alone. I don’t have anyone to go with.”

“Actually…” Gilly looked down at her cup, as though it was suddenly more interesting than the suspicious expression on Sansa’s face. “There  _ is _ someone…” She looked up from beneath her eyelashes. “Sandor?”

Sansa blushed. Thoughts of the afternoon of Renly and Loras’s wedding flashed through her mind, of how hot and bothered she’d been by the time she had walked out of his apartment. He had felt so good underneath her, as though her thighs had been made to wrap around his hips.

But then it had been interrupted by the sound of the door closing, and she’d felt like someone had dumped a bucket of ice water on her head.

She wasn’t going to be built up and then let down like the first kiss they’d shared, so she refused to put herself in the position again.

“I don’t think he would be the best person to go,” she said, now looking at her own cup. 

“What if he wanted to?”

Sansa looked up at Gilly. She had that darn smile on her face, where her lips were spread over her protruding teeth in an adorable,  _ knowing _ smile.

“Gilly, what did you do?” Sansa narrowed her eyes. Something was afoot.

“I didn’t want to tell you about the class unless you had someone to go with, so I caught him this morning before he left for work, and… He said he would go with you, if you wanted him to.”

Sansa’s mouth fell open. 

“You already asked him?? Gilly! What if I didn’t want to go??”

“Then you wouldn’t have gone!” she said, as though it were a perfectly reasonable answer.

“Did you tell him it wasn’t my idea?”

“I told him I saw a flyer, and that if he wanted to go with you, to be ready by six, because the class starts at six-thirty.”

Sansa felt her heart speed up. He said he would? He was willing to go to a birthing class with her?

There had been that one time where he told her he didn’t mind pretending to be the baby’s father, but this was nothing like that--when they had been shopping for strollers and the saleswoman had assumed he was the dad.

Was this him doing something similar--just being there for her, when she needed someone?

Or… Or was it that he felt he couldn’t say no, out of some sense of obligation? She squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself not to wonder if he was doing it because he thought she needed to be more prepared for the baby.  _ That _ would be horrible, and she would absolutely refuse to go if that were the case.

“Was he at least happy, when he said yes?”

“Well, he wasn’t  _ un _ happy… which is good for Sandor.” Gilly smiled kindly. “Let him do this for you, Sansa. Lord knows he’s been enough of a butthead that he  _ should _ do nice things for you.”

Sansa smiled, and she nodded in her agreement, which then led to chuckles, and laughter as the women’s friendship grew thanks to Sandor’s grumpiness. 

A couple hours later the knock came at Sansa’s door, and she pushed herself off the couch to answer it. Sandor stood on the other side, dressed in a t-shirt and black jeans, his body looking completely devoid of all paint or drywall mud.

“Sandor,” she said in greeting. He nodded.

“Sansa.”

“Thank you for doing this. You didn’t have to.” 

He offered his arm and waited for her to grab her purse and take it, slipping her hand over his forearm after she locked her door with her key. 

“I know, but you don’t have anyone else,”  _ and you could use this class _ , Sansa expected him to say, but he didn’t, thankfully.

She had taken special care with her appearance, part of her wanting to look good in front of him just so it was harder on him to be with her. But he was being the perfect gentleman, walking her out to the truck, helping her up into it, waiting until she was buckled before closing the door gently. 

And she couldn't help but notice how handsome he looked, wearing all black as he was, how he’d brushed his hair and arranged it so that a shock of it fell over his scars. Even his beard and mustache looked combed, which surprised her. He seemed to favor the just-got-out-of-bed look.

She wanted reassurance, though, so when he looked over at her as he drove and caught her staring at him, she smiled gently. 

“Will you be happy doing this?” 

She watched as his brow furrowed, and he nodded as he glanced over.

“Yes, of course. Why do you ask?”

“Well, because. I don’t want you doing anything you don’t want to do, and… And because I want you to be doing it for the right reasons.”

Sandor inhaled deeply and let it out on a sigh, his next thought saying he might have been expecting her to feel that way. 

“What are the  _ wrong _ reasons?”

Sansa sighed. There was no way around this, since he’d asked, so she blurted out the first thing that she had thought earlier with Gilly.

“That you think I still have a lot to learn about having a baby so you’re doing what you can to get me to where I need to be in order to not be so… under informed,” she finished lamely, and even to her ears it sounded almost insulting towards him--that she thought so lowly of him to justify like that. But he  _ had _ shown himself to be picky and overbearing when it came to matters of her health, so she decided she was only partly accountable for this discussion.

To his credit, Sandor just took another deep breath. Then he seemed to think about his answer for a minute before he opened his mouth to answer.

“No, Sansa, I do not think you’re under informed.” 

He gripped the steering wheel tightly, though, as he spoke. She wondered what that meant. But then his grip softened, and one hand even fell to his thigh. 

He looked over at her, just for a moment as he said, “I think you’re going to be a great mom,” and he returned his eyes to the road.

It was the nicest thing he’d ever said to her.

Sansa had chosen the most comfortable outfit she could think of, which ended up being a pair of soft cotton maternity pants and a maternity tank top long enough to cover her belly. Over the top she wore a light sweater, which she could remove if she got hot. And she had finally gone out and gotten a couple nursing bras, so her breasts were at least contained, if not still almost a couple cup sizes bigger than they were.

When they reached the class, though, and her sweater had come off in the large, warm living room of the instructor, Sansa realized her outfit may have been a mistake.

Sandor couldn’t keep his eyes off her, and was obviously having trouble concentrating on the instructor, an older woman by the name of Mary, with thick, gray hair and a grandmotherly smile. 

It started with the initial position, a very comfortable one in which they were supposed to begin the class. Sandor might have been having a difficult time. This was where the man was to take the strain from the woman by seating her between his legs and allowing her to lean back against him.

If not for the low groan out of Sandor, Sansa might not have known anything was amiss with him. The other couples were all too engrossed in each other to notice, but Sansa was sure she received some knowing, suggestive smiles from Mary, hopefully when Sandor wasn’t looking.

Everyone there assumed they were a couple and Sansa followed Sandor’s lead in not correcting them. They also assumed, naturally, that he was the father, so when Mary announced the fathers should give comfort to the mothers by wrapping their arms around the women, he just followed instructions. His long, muscular arms came from behind and wrapped her tightly, one arm resting on her belly and therefore against the front of her breasts, and the other wrapped across her shoulders.

It was bad enough that through the beginning of the session, Sansa had grown increasingly aware of Sandor, and of how it felt to be in a class where close proximity was a requirement. She could smell his scent, could feel the definition of his pectoral muscles and hard abs at her back, and was so close to his forearm that she could have bent her head to nuzzle at the soft hairs covering his skin.

It took several ounces of effort to  _ not _ do that.

When his legs came up to bracket her body and he squeezed her hips between his thick, strong thighs, Sansa’s own breathing became slightly labored, and she squirmed within Sandor’s embrace.

“Stop doing that,” he ground into her ear, and Sansa immediately stilled. His voice was stern, and she wondered what had gotten into him. 

“I can’t help it,” she said, but she stopped anyway.

“Mommies, now lay your head back against the father’s shoulder and put your hands on his knees. Fathers, I want you to put your hands on the belly and just feel her, feel the baby, and do whatever feels good with your hands.”

Sandor snorted, but Sansa ignored him. She rested her head back against his shoulder as instructed, and put her hands on his large knees. He in turn lowered his hands to her belly and splayed his fingers against her, though when Sansa took her first deep breath (also as instructed), his hands stopped moving.

“Sandor?” She turned her face towards him, feeling the tickle of his hair where it fell against her temple, but his eyes were on her skin where the fabric of her tank top ended, and where the curve of her breasts started to show. She flushed, and she was sure he’d see it on her chest.

“Stop doing that,” she whispered, her mouth extremely close to the curve of his beard, to which he breathed heavily in response, bathing her skin in hot breath.

“I can’t help it,” he said, and she huffed out a breathy laugh at the mirror of their earlier words.

Thankfully that position also allowed for Mary to stand and address all the couples and Sandor was forced to pay attention. Sansa could no longer feel his gaze on her chest, though she felt extremely comfortable leaning against his broad chest, feeling the warmth of him surrounding her, protected inside his arms. She didn’t think at any time in her life she’d ever felt so good, so safe.

So it seemed only natural to coast her hands down both his legs, running her palms down and up the sides of his hard thighs. She did it a couple times while listening to Mary, not really thinking about what she was doing until she felt that rumble against her back and his lips against her ear as he tipped his head to speak into it.

“Sansa,” he said, her name a warning. 

But she was saved when Mary announced it was time to move onto a new position.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Birthing Class Part 2!

Next on the list of birthing positions was, thankfully, a standing one. Sandor wasn’t sure how much longer he was going to be able to put up with the birthing class and staring at Sansa’s breasts without going mad.

He had been questioning his sanity in telling Gilly  _ yes _ to her insane idea of doing the class with Sansa, but knew that doing so, and being completely, one hundred percent supportive while doing it, would mean a lot to Sansa. 

As of yet he hadn’t seen any family or friends coming over to help her, so he figured he and the other tenants were all she had near enough to be of any aid. 

So he was going to do this for her, and he was going to endure the touching and the looks, and yes, the squirming while she was in his lap, no matter how maddening it was.

The men stood behind the women and Mary instructed them to place their hands beneath the bellies, and to just stand there. Sansa was tall but not so tall that Sandor didn’t have to lean down to do this position. It didn’t matter too much, as the women were instructed to let their legs go slightly loose so the men would take some of the weight of their belly off. Mary explained this was for during active labor, and that it helped some mothers immensely.

When Mary said to lean back against the father, Sansa did so, putting her head back against his chest. Then they went through a couple more standing positions, each one not nearly as sexual as that first one had been, where her breasts had been on display for  _ him _ .

Why hadn’t the woman worn a t-shirt like a normal person?

Mary announced before they discussed nursing-- _ the gods help him _ \--they would go through some kneeling positions, and she said there were three positions where the woman rests on her knees, which sometimes was more comfortable than standing.

The first meant the fathers and mothers knelt while facing each other. Both sitting on their heels, the mother was to put her head on the father’s chest while he rubbed her back. Sandor could have sworn that Sansa took an inappropriate amount of deep breaths in this position, and wondered if she was smelling him. But he wasn’t about to actually ask her, so they moved onto the next position, which was similar except the father sat in a chair and leaned back while the mom rested her head again against the father’s chest.

Sandor rubbed Sansa’s back during this position, but his thoughts were on the intimate way her belly pressed against him, and he prayed silently that he wouldn’t get hard while she was there.

The time spent in that position was blessedly short, as Mary said it was now time to use the exercise balls. With the rest of the women, Sansa leaned over the ball, resting her upper chest and cheek against it, while the men were instructed to kneel behind them.

It took perhaps a moment too long for Sandor to comply, as Mary came over and asked if there was a problem.

“Is there something wrong, Sandor?” She even put a reassuring hand on his arm, but her smile shone knowingly, and it grated on his nerves. 

Before he could say anything, she said quietly, just so he could hear, “Being aroused in this position isn’t uncommon. We’ll spend ample time here so you can get ahold of your faculties before we move on.”

He shot her a look, but it seemed like his scars and demeanor didn’t affect her at all. She gave him arm another pat and walked away as he straddled Sansa’s calves and prayed to the gods he’d get through this position without hauling her ass to the nearest bedroom.

But it was right  _ there _ , her gorgeous, round ass, right at the perfect height for…  _ Gods help him _ , how was he going to survive this. 

_ Fucking Gilly _ . She’d get a piece of his mind if he didn’t make it out of here without embarrassing himself.

Sansa’s pants were thin and dark, but what he saw beneath them is what finally pushed him over the edge. The line of her panties wasn’t quite low enough to be briefs, not high enough to be a thong, but somewhere in between. And he could see through the thin, solid material of her pants that they were  _ lace _ . Just like the ones he’d caught a glimpse of so long ago at that emergency room.

Mary instructed the men to lean over the women and to cup their belly with their hands, but Sandor leaned down and, unable to help himself, moved his face close to her exposed ear.

“You’re killing me, little bird,” he rasped, and he rested his forehead on her shoulder for just a moment before rising back up and struggling to listen to what Mary was telling them.

He never had a chance to look at her face, as he was being told to massage her lower back, to rub her sides, and to grasp her hips. He was pretty sure he heard at least one of the other three men groan, and Sandor felt relieved that he wasn’t the only one affected. 

He was certain in another life, gray-haired Mary had been a sadist.

As he dug his thumbs in gently to the muscles at Sansa’s lower back, running them up her spine and massaging her sides with his fingertips, she released a languid hum into the ball. 

“That feels so good, Sandor,” she said, and there was nothing sexual about it. That might have been what helped him rein it in, because suddenly he saw that he was indeed helping her, and that she was incredibly relaxed on that ball, eyes closed now, with her hands resting on the floor beside the ball.

He rubbed and massaged, feeling the fine bones of her spine, the muscles of her back and sides, and the roundness of her hips, keeping his eyes off that damnable lace hidden beneath her pants. 

He suspected Mary had let that position go on longer also so that the women would get a mini-massage, and as all four of the mothers raised up off the balls, they all looked like they could have stayed there for another hour.

The last thing this holistic witch doctor wanted them to do was reverse positions in the chair. She had the women sit, and the men kneel in front, and instructed them that at this stage of pregnancy, bonding could happen between the men and the baby, despite the baby still being in utero. She told them to lean forward, put their lips against the belly anywhere they wanted, and speak to the baby.

_ Speak to the baby _ . 

This woman wanted him to  _ speak _ to the  _ baby _ .

His first instinct was to just get up and leave. He felt ridiculous, and he didn’t want Sansa to think he was being presumptuous, or overstepping his bounds as neighbor. It was incredibly awkward, and he had no idea what to do.

But as he looked up at Sansa she smiled down at him, and he knew he’d have to say  _ some _ thing, for her.

In what was the most awkward moment of his life, he leaned down to press his mouth against her stomach, and paused… What to say?

“Hello,” he murmured, and he closed his eyes, not wanting to see Sansa react to his ineptitude. So instead he decided to talk  _ about _ her, and to tell the baby the truth.

“Your mom is an amazing woman.” 

He swallowed, and turned his head, resting his temple against the warmth of her belly. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, storing up strength in that breath as he turned his mouth back to the infant inside her.

“She’s sweet and kind, generous, thoughtful, responsible, hard-working,” he felt Sansa chuckle but didn’t open his eyes, “and she sings me to sleep almost every night.” Sansa’s sharp indrawn breath was her only reaction to that revelation.

“I know she likes music so I bought her a speaker, and I thinks she uses it a lot. Make sure she doesn’t bore you with that country crap she likes, and that you listen to some CCR and AC/DC.”

Again, Sansa chuckled, and Sandor had to smile against her stomach. 

“But you have to treat her right, too. Be a good boy, and always listen to her because she knows what’s best for you. She’s a good mom even if you haven’t met her yet.”

He almost left her belly when he felt her hand go to his hair, but the feeling was so foreign, so odd to him after a lifetime of no one touching him in that manner, that he stayed where he was, stunned into submission, turning his good cheek into the roundness of her belly with his face facing away from the other couples.

She used her fingertips to draw his hair backwards off his forehead, sliding them back and across the scar tissue on the side of his scalp, and ran her palm down the length of hair to the back of his neck before repeating her actions. It was so soothing--so  _ loving _ of a touch--that he rested there, his eyes still closed as though the class had been made for his comfort instead of hers.

Her small hand was gentle, her fingertips soft, and she gave him goosebumps every time they came up and touched his forehead. When he had received the injury he thought he’d never feel that kind of touch. The skin was numb, but he could feel her presence against him as surely as he could smell the scent of her laundry detergent.

Her hand went lower, tracing over the skin where his ear had been, and drawing the hair back from the side of his neck. Then she drew the hair through her fingertips until it fell back against him, causing a multitude of tingling sensations at his scalp when she did so.

He rested there until Mary came back into the small semi-circle of couples, making her presence known by clearing her throat.

“Now, for the last part of this class we are going to discuss breastfeeding.”

Sandor groaned, turning his face into Sansa’s stomach briefly before standing, avoiding her eyes.

~≈~≈~

Sansa’s heart was racing. She didn’t know what had prompted her to reach out and touch Sandor’s scars, but she’d done it, and she couldn’t take it back. He hadn’t made eye contact with her since he’d stood, so now she was unsure of her actions, and questioned whether she stepped over some unwritten line by touching him. 

But it had felt so right, during that incredibly intimate moment with him where he’d said such sweet things to her baby.

“Moms and dads, please resume the original position,” Mary was saying, and Sansa watched the other couples sit on the floor, mom’s back to dad’s front. Sandor did meet her eyes then, and there was something in them that made her feel uneasy.

But he sunk to the floor, his large frame unfolding so that he sat on his butt, knees raised, legs slightly spread, looking up at her with an expression that said  _ Well _ ?

Sansa took a shaky breath and grasped his raised hand, accepting his offer of help lowering herself to sit between his legs. She eased back between them into the space that now, for reasons unknown to her, felt different. 

It felt--and  _ Gods help her _ but she couldn’t figure this out--as though her awareness of his body was tenfold compared to the beginning of the class. The space she sat in now was a space reserved for the woman who chose to be his for the rest of her days, and it was like a cloud suddenly moved in to hover over her evening. 

She felt like an imposter. 

He hadn’t chosen her. Someone--Gilly--had chosen  _ her _ for him.

Something was happening, that thing that had started months ago during all the times their bodies had wandered close, all the times his eyes had met hers and it wasn’t out of anger that they were left breathing hard.

So when she leaned back against him slowly, as though she was afraid of the jolt that would come when they came into contact with each other, she held her breath, sinking into him as his legs closed in on her slightly, enfolding her into the cocoon of his warmth.

_ This is not my home _ , she had to remind herself.  _ He is not mine _ . 

_ This isn’t real _ . 

Mary asked the mothers whether or not they planned on breastfeeding, and she made it known that her home was a place of no judgement, so she didn’t have an opinion either way. But she stated her job was to help mothers who did choose that route. Only one couple stated they were not planning on breastfeeding. Sansa nodded when Mary looked at her.

She had a hard time paying attention from that point on. With Sandor’s hands cupping the underside of her stomach, his fingers splayed and occasionally softly stroking her through her shirt, she thought she might cry.

Nonsense pregnancy hormones, is what she told herself they were. 

She accepted the baby doll from Mary and Sandor’s hands paused as she instinctively held it like she would have Robb’s baby. She thought that perhaps he was watching, and she decided to ignore him the best she could, and paid closer attention to what Mary was saying.

She went through the many different holds that the moms could do with the baby--from the typical front hold, to laying down, to the football hold, which had the other men chuckling. But for the remainder of the class she asked the moms to hold the baby horizontal across the chest. She also spoke about the first milk that comes in, and Sansa had a hard time not squirming in Sandor’s lap at the intimate subject.

“Initially, breastfeeding is likely to hurt.” The women all groaned. “There are creams and lotions you can use to keep your nipples from cracking, but dads--” she pointed to all the men in turn, “--be gentle with your ladies during this time.” Sansa blushed, and she knew even if a tornado hit she wouldn’t have looked Sandor in the eye at that moment. “They are likely to be very sensitive, if not in actual pain.”

Sansa remembered the basket of gifts she’d received from Daenerys and Margaery, and the lanolin cream. She was going to have to try that out, if she was afflicted with the pain and cracking Mary was speaking of.

“Also, men, get ready to help with feedings. Babies might want to eat as many as sixteen to eighteen times a day, and many of those happen at night.” 

Mary put her hands on her hips and gave the men a plaintive look while shaking her head. 

“Don’t make her do this alone, okay? Be supportive, helpful, wake at night with her, bring the baby to her, show her that you appreciate that she just carried this baby inside her for nine months. Alright?”

The men nodded, though Sansa didn’t detect movement from behind her.

“Ladies, after the baby has learned how to breastfeed and your colostrum turns into mature breast milk, you might have to endure engorgement. This means your breasts will become so full of milk that they hurt--sometimes even to the touch. Again, men, be sensitive to your partner’s needs. If she says don’t touch,  _ don’t touch.” _

Sandor cleared his throat and Sansa wondered if he was uncomfortable. His breathing against her back remained steady and even, but he had begun to fidget every so often with his hands against the fabric of his jeans.

“And lastly--men, again this is for you--ladies, don’t be afraid to involve the dad in the breastfeeding. They can’t feed the baby, of course, but they can do other things, like getting the baby for you, helping the baby latch on, if someone needs to hold your breast to get it to the baby’s mouth, let him do it.” 

Sandor tensed behind her at that, and Sansa felt mortified that they were sitting there listening to Mary speak, and likely both imagining Sandor doing those things for Sansa.

When it was over he helped her get up and they thanked Mary for the informative session, before walking out to Sandor’s truck.

“Holy crap,” Sansa said as soon as Sandor shut his door.

“Tell me about it,” he muttered, and they drove the rest of the way home in silence.

Neither of them spoke until they were standing outside Sansa’s apartment, and Sansa had had some time to get over the embarrassment of what she had just put Sandor through. She smiled at him after unlocking her door, still feeling the pink in her cheeks from the class.

“Sandor, thank you for going with me. I thought it was going to be… less intimate. More lecture.”

He looked down at her and the corner of his mouth rose, which made it so she could let out the breath she’d been holding.  _ A smile, thank the Gods. _

“It was… enlightening,” he said, choosing his words carefully. But as though they both knew it wasn’t something they were going to talk about, they instead chose to say goodnight. 

Sansa opened her door and turned to ask if Sandor wanted to have dinner the following night, as thanks to him for sitting through the class with her, but he was already down the hall and entering his apartment.


	21. Chapter 21

Sandor confused her! One minute he acted like he liked Sansa and wanted to spend more time with her, and the next minute he beat a hasty retreat. She locked her door, dropped her purse and threw up her hands in frustration. But that night when she laid down she fell asleep almost immediately, and didn’t wake again until late the next morning.

She had no reason to set an alarm, but even so, when she saw that her clock read after nine in the morning, she was surprised. Usually she had to sit and hum herself to sleep, knowing that the baby was going to keep her up at least for an hour or so.

She didn’t think anything of it, and went about her morning like usual, making breakfast, getting dressed and laying out her projects to finish for the day. She had a good amount of money in savings so had put a hold on custom orders coming in through her website, saying she was going to work until she had the baby but then afterwards she was going to take a month off. It was something she’d been planning on doing for a while, so anyone who wanted custom orders finished before that month started needed to get them in by the end of the week.

She worked through lunch, happily singing along to music coming from the bluetooth speaker, and only stopped when Davos came by to ask her if she wanted to add a spare key to his collection of apartment keys. He was the tenant who was home most of the time, he said, so if something happened to her or if she lost her keys somewhere, there would always be one in his apartment for her to use.

Having known him for several months now, and knowing that everyone else in the building viewed him as the kind old man on the top floor, she gladly accepted, and gave him her extra key. 

It wasn’t long after that, that Daenerys, Margaery and Brienne showed up at her door.

Sansa was wondering what made her so popular that day, but was happy to see her friends. 

“We all have the day off, so we wanted to go treat you to a full pedicure before you’re due to go into the hospital,” said Margaery, the more outgoing of the three. Daenerys and Brienne nodded behind her.

“What?? Are you sure? That’s so generous of you guys,” Sansa said, thoroughly surprised. 

“It’s nothing, really,” Daenerys murmured, her blonde hair drifting forward as she shook her head. “You’re not going out much these days and we figured if your last outing was a birthing class with Sandor, that maybe you deserved a day out with ladies.”

Sansa blushed and laughed.

“You guys heard about that?”

“Well, Gilly likes knowing everyone’s business, and she also loves to talk.”

The three of them laughed while Brienne smirked in the background. 

So Sansa put away what she had been working on and grabbed her purse, locking her apartment on the way out.

They drove in Margaery’s spacious sedan, music blaring on the radio. Sansa hadn’t felt so carefree in a long time, and she had fun just being with them. They drove her to a big salon on the edge of town, escorted her inside, and ordered pedicures all around, with an extra foot and calf massage for the pregnant woman.

They sat in a corner, two on each wall, so they could talk to each other while the pedicurists worked on them all at the same time. They ordered drinks from the in-house coffee shop and chatted away the afternoon while they waited for their polish to dry. Sansa had to admit, the massage was heavenly.

When they were all satisfied with their pedicures and Sansa showed them all the butter yellow polish with the hummingbird sticker on her big toe, they laughed and asked why she’d chosen it.

“Sandor called me Little Bird a couple times,” she said, blushing. “So when I saw that sticker, I chose it.”

Even Brienne smiled at that, but Margaery grinned widely.

“He likes you, you know.”

“What? No. He might think I’m attractive, but he doesn’t  _ like _ like me.”

Even Daenerys shook her head.

“The way he stares at you when you’re not looking?”

“And how you’re the first tenant to draw him out of his cave?”

Even Brienne got in on it.

“You should have heard what he told Tormund about you.”

“What did he say??”

Brienne smiled softly, before replying, “Well, it wasn’t so much what he said, as what he didn’t  _ deny _ .”

A chorus of  _ ooooo _ ’s went up from Margaery and Daenerys, making Sansa blush. She seemed to be doing that a lot these days.

But Brienne didn’t elaborate, and soon they were ensconced in a booth at a downtown restaurant, ordering salads and ice teas for the two, and burgers with fries for Brienne and Sansa. 

“So… Brienne…” Margaery was looking at the tall blonde woman with a massive grin on her face as they waited for their food. “How is it?” She raised her eyebrows suggestively as she chewed on the stir stick in her tea.

Brienne blushed and tried to look stern, but a smile crept onto her lips as she looked at the other faces at the table.

“He’s, well, sweet. And handsome. And he likes me just the way I am.”

“Aw, hell, Brienne, we wanna know how he is in bed!”

Sansa and Daenerys giggled uproariously at Margaery’s boldness, but it caused a wide smile to spread on Brienne’s face.

“I don’t kiss and tell, ladies,” she said, trying to sound snooty and failing miserably.

“No,” agreed Daenerys, who then smiled wickedly. “But I bet Tormund would if we asked him!” Another round of giggles, because they all knew it was true.

“Okay, okay…” Brienne took a fortifying gulp of her tea, looking at the glass pensively as she composed her reply. Or as she imagined what she and Tormund had done, which was more likely judging by the way she was blushing.

“He’s… “ She glanced up, grinning. “Fucking fantastic.”

A waiter had to come by and ask them to quiet down.

Their food arrived and they all dug in, Sansa finding she was famished after having such a fun afternoon. It was nearly dinner time anyway, so she unapologetically ate all of her burger and most of her fries, to which Margaery said, “Aw, fuck it, can I have those?”

Freely giving them up, Sansa pushed her plate over, suddenly curious about the other two ladies.

“So why is it you two don’t have boyfriends knocking down your door?”

Daenerys answered this time, smiling lightly at Sansa as she did so. “We just haven’t found the right men yet. And until we do, we’re happy living together, just the three of us, until Brienne drops us to move in with Tormund.”

Brienne choked on her food, and coughed and sputtered before taking a long drink from her iced tea.

“I… am… NOT… moving in with him.” She wiped her mouth with a napkin and tossed it back onto the table before asking, “Have you guys seen his apartment? He’s a slob, and I couldn’t live like that.”

“But have you asked him to clean up his act?” Sansa thought it was a reasonable request, and it appeared that the other two ladies did as well.

“Would you ask Sandor to change for you, if there was something about him you didn’t like?”

“Well, no, but it seems like he’s already changing some--hey, that wasn’t fair.”

The three ladies all laughed at her, after Brienne made her walk into her own trap. “It’s not like that between us. He’s just a friend.”

“Tell me, how many times have you caught him staring at your cleavage?”

Damn all this blushing. “Several,” she muttered, not sure where they were going with that. “But all guys will do that, so it’s not unusual.”

“Yeah,” Brienne said around a mouthful of burger, “But how many would have acted on it?”

Sansa smiled, pulling her braid over her shoulder and fiddling with the end. “Okay, everyone but him, but still. That doesn’t mean anything. He walked away from me last night without even asking if I wanted coffee, or anything. He just walked away, even though we’d spent two hours in that woman’s house cuddling on the floor like some married couple.” Her words had gotten heated towards the end, and she realized she was actually irritated by it. But still, she had no right to be. Like she’d kept insisting, he wasn’t into her. He may be attracted to her, but that was it.

“He’s trying to respect you, woman.” Brienne smiled, knowingly. “Tormund spoke to Sandor about it. Told Sandor that a woman wants to be respected, not just loved.”

“Who taught him all that malarkey?” Margaery looked positively offended by the idea.

“I did!” said Brienne, and she grinned as though she’d imparted on Tormund the greatest knowledge he’d ever learn.

By the time they pulled into the apartment building at seven, it was already dark outside. Sansa had talked until she had no more words left, and she was more unsure about Sandor than ever. 

He didn’t seem too irritated about things anymore, or at least not like he used to. And he seemed just as willing to do things for her, like escorting her to the wedding and going to the birthing class with her. He had even been downright polite, despite leaving shortly after they’d arrived home.

She wasn’t sure what to make of him, but she was sure she knew her own emotions well. She was falling for him, that was a fact. And now that she had finally come to the conclusion that it was him she longed for at night, his companionship she wanted during her day, and him she wanted to cook for every day, to make a home for, she wasn’t sure if going on living at that apartment was going to be the best decision for her.

She didn’t need Jaime’s charity any longer, as she had found a consistent source of income, and she could afford to look for an apartment on her own.

And though it saddened her to think of leaving, it would have made her feel worse living by a man who didn't want her the way she wanted him.

Margaery, Daenerys and Brienne made sure she made it inside the building and wished her goodnight, leaving her before she’d had a chance to unlock her door. The trio jogged up the stairs and were laughing as they closed the door to their apartment.

Puzzled, Sansa opened her door and switched on the light.

What she saw made her drop both her keys and purse on the floor at her feet.

Everything looked so different, and yet the only thing that had changed was the additions she suspected Davos had authorized. _ Spare key holder, my butt _ , she thought.

Against the wall of the living room sat a brand new playpen, toy box full of infant toys, and a folded up high chair that was ready for when the baby was old enough to use it. Strapped to one of her dining chairs was a small portable high chair, and on top of the table in front of it was a Bumbo seat.

In her kitchen she found a supply of neatly folded bibs, baby spoons, and baby plates and bowls, all blue. 

The bathroom counter held stacks of baby towels and washcloths, baby shampoos, and there was a small infant bathtub sitting inside her own tub.

Finally, her room had been rearranged so that the crib Renly and Loras had helped her set up could be beside her bed, though there was some sort of bassinette contraption hanging directly off the side of the mattress. Beside her new changing table sat three enormous boxes of diapers, each in a different size, and a gift card on top that read  _ Diaper Fund _ . 

Sansa had tears in her eyes by the time she was done inspecting her bedroom, and she sat down on the edge of her bed and sobbed into her hands.

“Hey,” came Sandor's softened voice from the bedroom door. 

Sansa looked at him over her hands, startled that she hadn't heard him come in, and she gasped. In his arms he held the most beautiful, massive arrangement of blue and yellow flowers she'd ever seen. It was full of all manner of blue flowers, with yellow roses, daisies, hydrangeas, and lilies. 

Sandor looked at them, and then back up at her. She watched his beard move as he worried his lip, and saw the unease written all over his face.

“This wasn't supposed to make you cry,” he said, and Sansa shook her head.

“Sandor, what is all this?? Did you do this?”

He looked around, nodding as he took in the small changes.

“With some help, yes. Loras,” he nodded at the arrangement he held, “supplied the flowers, Renly and Sam helped move the crib and put together the playpen and high chair, and Gilly helped me pick out the small stuff.” 

He cleared his throat, and scuffed at the carpet with his stockinged foot. 

“I bought the diapers a couple days ago. They've been in my apartment.”

Sansa pushed off the bed, her belly making it hard. She turned towards him but he walked over, putting the flower vase on the changing table and easing her back down onto the edge of the bed.

Sansa didn't know if she should cry at the sweetness or rail at him for the invasion of her privacy. But the scope of what he'd done was enough to keep her silent while he found his voice.

He knelt in front of her, paused, sat back on his heels, paused again… Sansa was about to say that this was the most wonderful thing anyone had done for her, but he reached out and took her two smaller hands inside his much larger ones. Then he thought better of his position and he rose, kneeling in front of her so that they were almost at eye level with each other.

“Sansa,” he rasped, and he stopped to clear his throat. He reached up with one hand to swipe away her tears, and then wiped his hand on his jeans before taking her hand again. 

He sighed, shaking his head.

“I’m an ass.”

Sansa choked out a short laugh at his admission, and she dropped her head to her chest, closing her eyes. At first she shook her head, but then she had to smile at how funny it sounded to hear him admit to something like that. She raised her head then, nodding this time, and with a teary smile, replied to him.

“Yes. Yes, you are.”

“But I don’t want to be. It’s just…” His scars pulled at the skin on his right side, and she ignored the urge to touch them again. He had seemed to like it so much, and she desperately wanted the opportunity to do it once again. But now was not the right time, nor would it likely ever be the right time.

It was humbling, seeing this big man kneeling on the floor in front of her, his broad shoulders wider than anything on her body. Their clasped hands rested on her thighs, and he made no move to touch her any further than that.

“Sansa, I’d like to start over.” 

Puzzled, she looked at him as he brought a hand up to scratch at his dark beard. It looked more like a nervous reaction to her silence. 

“I want us to be... “ He stopped and looked away, but when his eyes came back to rest on her his face was resolute. “I want us to be friends. Can we?” He cleared his throat. “Or have I ruined that?”

Sansa’s face fell.  _ Had  _ he ruined it? Had  _ she _ ruined it? But, ruined what? It’s not like they ever had something going on between them, not really. 

Her mind turned to her earlier thoughts, her decision that it was time for her to move on.

Sandor must have seen the change in her face, because he dropped her hands and sat on his heels.

“So that’s the way of it, then?”

Sansa felt tears once again prick her eyes. She had told herself earlier that she didn’t want to wait for the next time he decided to be a jerk, and that he would never change. Brienne had spoken of respect for her--he hadn’t shown her much respect in the past, so why would he now?

But the gifts, the way he’d readied her apartment for the baby--

_ The baby _ .

He hadn’t moved. The baby hadn’t moved since… 

Sansa couldn’t remember when.

“Sandor,” she said, her hands already going to her stomach. But he was standing, hands limp at his sides as he turned and walked to her door. 

“I understand,” he mumbled, and he walked out and into her living room.

“Sandor!” But he kept walking, even when she lurched off the bed and stumbled to the door. She had to stop him, as panic was rising in her chest at what the lack of movement might mean. “Sandor, the baby!” she cried, and he turned, hand on the door.

“What about the baby?” She was almost so panic-stricken that she missed the sadness in his eyes.  _ Almost _ .

“He hasn’t moved--oh god, Sandor, he hasn’t moved in so long. I hadn’t--I hadn’t… I remember now, thinking yesterday that he had slowed down--” Sandor was at her side now, hands on her upper arms, his face awash with worry. “But he hasn’t slowed down!”

The panic was growing, clawing at her throat, nearly preventing her from locking her eyes with Sandor’s own fearful ones as realization dawned on his face.

“Sandor, he stopped moving!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello. My name is Hollandoodle and I'm addicted to cliff hangers. Step one is admitting I'm powerless...


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't do that to you guys <3 Here's another chapter. 
> 
> Breathe easy!

Tears were pouring down Sansa’s face. 

How could she have been so  _ stupid _ ? Walking around all day, getting the pedicure, eating with the ladies, and not even paying attention to her own body? To her own child??

“Sansa, I’m going to bring you to the hospital right now, okay?” And she was dragged into Sandor’s strong arms that were suddenly lifting her off her feet, and cradling her against his broad chest as he clumsily donned his boots without looking. Then he managed to open her door and shoved his back into the building’s outer door to open it.

“Don’t worry, little bird, I’ve got you,” but Sansa was crying, and her fingers were caught up in his shirt like a vice grip.

~≈~≈~

Sandor’s heart was in his throat the whole way to the hospital. He’d barely managed to get Sansa buckled in the truck and his cell phone out to call Davos, so high was his panic at that moment. He struggled not to press his foot into the gas pedal, though he drove faster than he normally did.

“Sansa, it’s going to be okay, the baby is going to be okay,” he said, reaching over and grasping her hand. She was covering her mouth and crying with her other hand, mumbling words about being stupid and not knowing and being a terrible mom. He had no idea what was going through her head, but he was going to get her to a doctor fast but safely.

He pulled into the hospital’s ER, into a parking spot designated for new and expectant mothers. In a few seconds he had her out of the truck and was carrying her through the automatic doors, never once hesitating in his words as he told the triage nurse that the baby wasn’t moving and that Sansa thought he hadn’t moved since the day before.

It didn’t take long for them to get Sansa’s personal information, temperature, blood pressure and oxygen levels. 

Then Sansa, now somewhat composed and able to answer questions, was put into a wheelchair and wheeled back to a hospital room. Sandor followed, as though it was the most natural thing in the world for him to be there with her.

The nurse came in briefly to give Sansa a gown to change into and said the doctor would be in when she was done with her other patient. Then they were alone for the first time in what felt like forever, Sansa sitting on the edge of the bed, still as a statue as Sandor paced by the large curtained glass wall that separated them from the hallway.

“I’ll step out so you can change--”

“ _ No _ !” 

Sandor turned to look at her, and what he saw nearly broke his heart.

He went to her at once and she melted against him, the sobs taking over her as she pressed her face into his stomach, clutching at his shirt as he rubbed her back.

“Sansa, hey, little bird, it’s going to be okay, the baby is going to be okay,” but he knew he was saying the words for himself as much as he was saying it to her. 

_ Fuck _ , this baby had come to mean a lot to him--Sansa had come to mean a lot to him!--and now he was faced not only with losing Sansa, but the prospect that the baby was… 

He didn’t even want to think it. He just rubbed her back as she cried.

He also knew the doctor would be in soon, so he crouched down in front of her and tilted her face up to him. Her eyes were red and her cheeks were wet.

“We need to get you ready for the doctor, okay?” 

And at her nod he just grabbed her dress and started to lift, and she held her arms up as though she were a child. Up and off it came, and he set it aside before shaking out the gown and pulling it on her from behind, ignoring the desire to touch her or look at her. He wanted to just care for her.

No, that wasn’t it. He  _ needed _ to care for her. He needed it as surely as he needed her, and he was going to stay with her, no matter what happened, and she was going to have to deal with that.

Once they got the robe on and tucked around her front, he prompted her to slip out of her panties while his back was turned, knowing the drill for the ER doctor who was going to be in soon. 

Moments after, the same red-headed doctor came in, the one who Sansa had seen all those months ago when Sandor had called an ambulance when she’d fainted. She was wheeling in a machine on a cart, and she stopped when she saw them.

“Ah, Ms. Stark, hello. And you sir…?”

“Sandor Clegane.”

“Ah, yes, Mr. Clegane. Nice to see you again.” 

She asked about what was going on with the baby, foregoing any menial pleasantries, and asked why they were there, all the while strapping a contraption around Sansa and barely managing to keep her modest while she did so. 

Sansa kept ahold of Sandor’s hand as much as she could, a fact that did not go unnoticed by Sandor, or the doctor, if her curious eyes were any judge.

“Babies actually can slow down this late in a pregnancy, and you’re almost to forty weeks. What are you, thirty-eight and a half? If you think about it, there isn’t a lot of room left in there for the baby to move around.” 

She stood at the machine and pressed some buttons, occasionally repositioning the sensors on the band around Sansa’s belly. Soon lines appeared on the small monitor, and Dr. Mel pointed to the one that represented the baby’s heartbeat.

“ _ Oh my gods _ ,” Sansa breathed, “I was so worried.” She looked up at Sandor, who smiled lightly back at her.

“Me too,” he said before he realized he probably shouldn’t have, and Sansa’s smile faltered. But she held his gaze until he cleared his throat and looked away.

“Yes, well, we’d like to keep you here just for a few hours to monitor the baby--by the way, do you have a name picked out? Realistically, labor could happen any day now. It’s not something you want to let go until the last minute.” Her tone was slightly admonishing, and she swept out of the room before Sansa could answer her.

“A name?”

By the look on Sansa’s face, it was clear that she hadn’t thought of one, yet. Sandor pulled the doctor’s stool closer to the bed, eschewing the chairs in favor of it because it sat taller and he could be closer to her. 

“Haven’t you thought of any, yet?” But Sansa’s eyes looked miles away, so he reached over and tilted her head by the chin until she was facing him.

“Hey… are you okay?” 

It triggered her tears once more, and her face crumpled.

“Oh, Sandor, I was so scared. I thought something had happened to him.” 

Sandor brought her hand up to his mouth and pressed a gentle kiss to the back, holding it against his mouth while she cried quietly. 

“Everything’s okay, the doctor says he’s fine, and I’m here.” He lifted his hand to stroke her forehead, saying in a voice rough with emotion, “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

This made Sansa smile through her tears though her brows also lowered in confusion, and she extended her index finger on the hand he still held against his cheek, rubbing the back of the lone finger against the scruffiness of his beard.

“You’ve always been here, haven’t you?” 

If she hadn’t been looking at him when she said it, he may not have known what she said, her voice was so quiet. But he did, and so he nodded, wondering though what she was getting at.

“Even from the beginning,” she said softly, “The first time you saved me from Petyr.” 

Sandor chuckled though there was no real humor in it.

“You threw up that night.” 

Sansa’s eyes opened wide, and she blushed beneath the trails of tears on her cheeks.

“You heard me?? Oh gods, I think I’m going to be sick again.” But she was smiling now, as Sandor’s gaze sobered on her. He nodded.

“I thought you were so disgusted by how I looked that I had turned your stomach. It was only afterwards that I learned you were pregnant, and that I may have been wrong about your first impression of me.”

She laughed at that, obviously remembering their second meeting.

“You mean when I threw up in your toilet?” 

They both chuckled, and Sansa shook her head, looking over at Sandor’s face and taking in all of it, including his scars.

“I was never disgusted with your appearance, Sandor… Your behavior, yes, but not your appearance.” 

She smiled again, likely to take the sting out of her words, but Sandor laughed and rested his forehead against their entwined fingers.

“I was an ass.”

“So you said.”

“And you said we were best friends because you puked in my toilet.”

Sansa blushed again, looking adorable.

“And look at us now,” she whispered, and Sandor thought he heard more in that sentence than in anything she’d ever said to him.

But the doctor came back in then, and did another one of those horrendous internal exams, though this one was mercifully fast as she just wanted to check to see how much Sansa was dilated.

“One centimeter,” she announced, and Sansa looked like she was going to panic, so Sandor stepped in.

“What does that mean? She’s not due yet for a week and a half.”

“It just means her body is getting ready for labor. I’ll be back in a bit to check on you,” and again, she was gone.

Sansa was back to smiling at him after that embarrassing event, and she squeezed his hand.

“But yes,” she said, continuing their conversation, “I did think you were an ass. But really you were just looking out for me, and I was too dumb to see it.” 

Sandor chuckled again.

“No,” he disagreed, “I really was an ass. I went about it all wrong. You were just… I just felt like you needed someone to take care of you, and you soon proved to me that you didn’t.”

“Yes, but not until after I lifted a box the wrong way, left my door open too many times, and didn’t eat enough.” She laughed, and he knew she was talking about everything he’d ever lectured her on. She went on, “And when you saved me the second time from Petyr… I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t been there.”

“But I was,” he assured her, wanting to ward off those infernal tears that kept coming.

“Yes,” she said, those soft lips curving once again at him. “You were.” 

Then she drew in a ragged breath, choppy from her crying as she let it out softly, still staring at him. He could see her mind working, and he decided it was now or never, mostly because he was afraid she would come to the conclusion that she didn’t need him.

“Sansa, I want to be here for you. And for the baby.”

Her eyes widened but she didn’t say anything, only waited while he continued to speak. 

“I know I just told you I want to be friends, but… It took me a long time to realize that I was getting mad at you because you weren’t in a position to take my… care… for you.” 

No, that wasn’t the right way to say that. He shook his head and looked away for a moment, composing his thoughts. When he looked back, she was staring at him intently. He rubbed the back of her hand softly with his thumb. 

“When I said I wanted to start over, I lied. No, wait--” 

She had moved back slightly, already drawing away from him at his words so he pulled her back, leaned closer to her as he tugged her hand into his chest. 

“What I mean was, I don’t want to start as friends.” 

He swallowed past the lump in his throat, and wished he had thought through what he wanted to say before he’d jumped in feet first. But there was no help for it, so he trudged forward.

“I want… more… I’ve wanted more for a while now, probably months, and it took some talking to by Sam and Tormund to get me to realize it.” 

He chose not to speak of love, as he wondered if that would scare her off. So he kept that to himself for now, and instead continued with this train of thought. 

“Like I said, I want to be there for you and for the baby. I’ve tried to do that over the last few months, and though you said I  _ have _ been, I also feel like I’ve failed. I’ve gone about it all wrong, criticising you when I should have been praising you.” 

He brought her hand up to kiss it again, willing her to see in him the love and warmth he felt for her. 

“Do you understand what I’m saying? Am I making any sense?”

Sansa wasn’t smiling, but she was staring at him intently. Then she blinked, once, twice, and turned her head up to look at the ceiling of the hospital room. 

Sandor’s heart sunk. Her looking away from him was not the reaction he would have wanted.

But then she smiled, still not looking at him.

“Why are you smiling?”

Sansa turned back to him, the smile growing slightly wider as she looked at him. “I was going to move out, you know.”

Sandor was instantly on red alert. 

“What?? Why?”

Sansa’s eyebrows furrowed, but she was smiling like he didn’t have a clue, looking at him like  _ isn’t it obvious _ ? 

“Because we didn’t get along.”

“You don’t just move out because you don’t get along with your neighbor, for fuck’s sake.” 

She chuckled.

“Don’t be an ass again, Sandor. We’re just getting started.” She paused while he took a deep breath, and he waited, as calmly as he could, for her to explain. 

“I was going to move out because I couldn’t stand the thought of never being good enough.” Sandor scoffed but Sansa shook her head. “No, think about it--think of all the times we spoke and you criticised something I was doing.”

“But the damned  _ birthing class _ , how could you not know??”

“Know that you were attracted to me? Oh, I’ve known that, I think, for quite some time. You apparently can’t have these around you--” she waved in the general vicinity of her breasts “--and not be affected by them.”

Sandor rolled his eyes.  _ Shit _ . 

“Don’t deny it,” she said sweetly. “You’ve had your eye on them for a long time.”

He rolled his eyes again, but this time went to defend himself.

“I’ve had my eye on them since before I knew you were pregnant,” he said, his voice droll and dripping with fact. “Unfortunately for me, being attracted to your growing pregnant body just irritated me, because I couldn’t touch it.”

Sansa burst out laughing, covering her eyes as she squeezed them shut at his words.  _ Well,  _ it was true.

She was so pretty when she blushed. He wanted to see it more, to make her blush more.

But she sobered up enough to turn towards him. “I was going to move because you weren’t doing anything about it. In fact, you seemed to be doing quite the opposite--chasing me away.” Sandor sputtered but she held up her hand. “Oh  _ please _ , that kiss? The night we were supposed to have dinner and you kissed me?”

What-- _ What _ ? She was upset with him--had been willing to  _ move _ , to split them up--because he wasn’t  _ doing  _ anything with her? Wasn’t making any  _ overtures _ , any  _ advances _ ? 

“You were pretty hell bent on doing things your own way,” he said in his defense, “and on showing me you didn’t need anyone to help you or support you through this pregnancy.”

Sansa shook her head, her smile leaving her face.

“No, Sandor. It’s not that I didn’t need someone--it's that I didn’t need someone who only wanted to show me that  _ his _ way was best, that  _ his _ methods were superior. I felt like…” She paused, looking away for a moment before bringing her gaze back to his face. “I felt like you were going to turn me into a project.”

His frustration level shot up and he wondered if they should put the damned blood pressure cuff on  _ him _ .

“You weren’t a project! You were--you were--” He tried to come up with the right word, without telling her outright that he did all that he did because he’d come to care for her early in her tenancy at the apartment building.

Sandor shoved a hand back through his hair, then decided to just tell her the truth, consequences be damned. She needed to know she was most certainly  _ not _ a project. 

“I  _ kissed  _ you,” he reminded her heatedly, “because I was sexually frustrated, and irritated with you, and because I’d seen you holding Gilly’s baby and wished you were pregnant with mine, and because that night you looked so damned sexy I was out of my mind!” 

He let go of her hand and threw his up in defeat, his eyes somewhat wild as he looked at her gorgeous face laying there on the hospital bed. And he knew--was absolutely certain--that the only thing he wanted, that the only person alive who felt like the other half of his incomplete heart, was her.

“For fuck’s sake, woman,” he growled out, gesturing towards her with an outstretched palm as though she  _ had _ to know that what he was about to say was the gods-honest truth.

“I cannot  _ handle _ you in tight jeans!”


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I wanted to address something with you guys that I think you'll understand - what happens when a story plan goes awry. I had big plans for this fic, and it's around these recent chapters and the ones coming where I feel things went weird. The storyline just never sat well with me, and I really struggled to finish. I'm pretty sure there were several times when I forced myself to write and write and write, and then didn't go back and rewrite even though I didn't like it, simply because I didn't want to undo thousands a words worth of work. So then I struggled and pushed through the barrier of continuing a story I was disappointed with, and the second half of "The Damnedest Thing" is the result.
> 
> Don't get me wrong - there are parts I particularly like. But where I bring the characters from this point on, in my opinion, doesn't flow as smoothly as I had originally envisioned.
> 
> I am loving your comments and have been keeping up with replying to them. Thanks to everyone who has been reading (those who make themselves known int he comment section and those who don't!), and for following along with this strange AU. We'll finish sometime around premiere weekend!

Sandor looked off to the side of the hospital room, genuinely frustrated and perplexed, wheeling the stool a short distance away--couldn’t even  _ look _ at her he was so frustrated in that moment, hearing that she had been about to move because she’d thought he wanted to  _ fix _ her. He wanted to be angry with her,  _ was _ angry with her, but deep down he was also upset. 

Had he almost lost her?

And all because he was an ass in denial. What the  _ fuck _ had he been thinking??

A male nurse knocked and poked his head in the door, eyeing Sandor’s fuming face, crossed arms, and taking in--

For crying out loud, Sansa was beaming--positively shining like a ray of fucking sunshine.

“No, sir, thank you. Nothing’s wrong,” she said sweetly at the nurse’s inquiry, her smile bright enough to light up the whole damned room. The nurse nodded, looked at Sandor again, and backed out, though he didn’t close the door, only pulled the curtain shut. 

Sandor didn’t know what to think, or say, or do. So he just sat there, waiting for Sansa to do something. He was so thoroughly confused and had felt like the rug was pulled out from underneath him so fast that he was still falling.

And he wanted to cringe and reach out to grasp his words back, but they were already out. He’d just spilled his heart out to her, and the only reaction she gave was a goofy grin.  _ Fuck _ .

“Sandor, could you come here, please?”

He huffed, more upset than he’d been in a long time. 

“Why,” he growled, dropping his head. What was he supposed to do now?

“Well, only one of us is in a position to move right now, and I can’t come to you so I am asking you to come to me.”

He glanced up. Her smile had faded somewhat but it was still there, in her eyes and playing at the corners of her mouth. She lay there on the hospital bed, belly covered by the thin gown, hands lying limply at her sides. She had such a soft look on her face, and there was no anger there, only… happiness.

He felt like a sulking child, but then, he often felt that way around her. He used his feet to wheel the stool back to her side.

“Closer,” she said, that same smile on her face. 

He inched closer, his knees pushing up again the bed.

Sansa shook her head. She lifted a hand to crook a finger towards him, as though she had a secret.

“Closer.” Her voice was softer. 

He had no choice but to stand now, but he brought his face closer to hers.

He froze when Sansa reached up her hand and laid it under his hair, against the scarred skin on the side of his face. Sandor held his breath at the touch, and at the look of total acceptance in her eyes. He watched as her eyes travelled over his forehead, to his eyes, his nose, and down to his beard and mouth, as her hand moved softly over his skin.

She watched his mouth, and her tongue darted out, wetting her lips before her eyes came back up to meet his.

Then the hand she was touching him with slid back to the nape of his neck and she pulled him down to kiss her, softly at first, but then her mouth opened and Sandor lost all sense of time and location. He only knew the sweetest sensation of her mouth moving over his.

He braced his fists on either side of her on the raised bed, feeling his hair slide forward to enclose them in a curtain of darkness as she explored his mouth with her lips, her tongue, not even caring that he was bent over.

Sansa released a demure moan into his mouth, bringing back memories of that night he’d had her straddling his lap, and the soft whimpers she gave him when he’d kissed at her skin and touched her body. 

He didn’t have a chance to do that now, as she whispered  _ Closer _ against his mouth, her arms sliding around his shoulders to pull him into her. He landed with his elbows bracketing her, his hands sliding into the soft red hair, twisting his head to bring their mouths as close as they could go and feeling her breasts pushing against the wall of his chest.

Then a feminine throat cleared and he sprung back, feeling like the child caught in the teacher’s lounge stealing candy out of the bowl.

“Sorry to interrupt,” said Dr. Mel, though her tone said she actually wasn’t. She merely smirked a feminine, authoritative smirk at Sandor and went to Sansa’s side, who was now trying to subtly wipe at her mouth with the back of her hand. Sandor pursed his lips and sent her a look that he hoped said  _ We’re not finished _ .

Her blush said she got the message.

“Well, Ms. Stark, according to these readings your baby is perfectly healthy, and you have nothing to worry about. I don’t see why we have to keep you any longer than necessary.” 

The doctor once again opened the gown to release the monitoring band and Sandor turned, not wanting to offend Sansa by seeing anything she didn’t want him to see. 

“Thank you, Dr. Mel, for seeing me again.” 

Sansa was as polite as usual, and when he turned again she was already pulling her dress down over her thighs.

“It’s my pleasure. Just resume your regular activities, and don’t worry about anything. In no time you’ll have a healthy baby and you’ll look back and laugh that you ever had concerns.” 

But then Dr. Mel shot Sandor a look, and she sent him that same damned smirk. 

“And I mean  _ all _ activities. Perfectly safe!” 

The last was sing-songed as she walked out of the room, to be replaced by the male nurse who had checked on them earlier, now with Sansa’s discharge paperwork.

~≈~≈~

“So, about what the doctor said…” Sansa was sitting in the passenger seat, one hand on the seat between them and one on her belly, as Sandor drove them home. “I was thinking...”

“Sex?”

She coughed, shaking her head. Thank the gods she hadn’t been drinking anything.

“Sandor,” she hissed, chuckling and embarrassed, blushing in the darkness of the truck cab. “No, I meant about me being dilated, and needing to be ready for the baby to come.”

“Oh,” he said, sounding only slightly disappointed. And probably a bit embarrassed as well. 

_ Oh my gods, _ well this was embarrassing.

“I was thinking,” she went on, as though he hadn’t just said that, “That I’ll have a bag packed and ready, and if you don’t mind, could I call you when it happens? And you can drive me to the hospital?”

He glanced at her from the driver’s seat and nodded, turning back to the road as he replied, “Of course I will.” But there was more of the characteristic gruffness to his voice, and Sansa smiled out the window.

_ Well _ . That was interesting.

It wasn’t until they pulled up to the apartment building and Sandor was helping her slide down from the truck that she brought it up again.

“So, about what Dr. Mel said,” she started, leaving it open-ended. Sandor nodded.

“Yes, I’ll drive you. I’ll give you my cell number so you can call even if I’m at work.”

Sansa laughed at him, and it brought his face back to hers. She shook her head.

“No,” she said, shy now that she was going to broach this subject. She was just…  _ curious _ . “I meant… sex.” 

Sandor’s one eyebrow came up as he reached behind her and shut the truck door, but he didn’t answer her.

“Well, I was just wondering,” she said softly, “You sounded… interested. Is that, uh, true? … Are you?”

Sandor looked like he was trying not to smile. He held his arm out to her for balance as he ran the other hand down his face.

“Fuck, Sansa, how could I not be?” 

He guided her around the front of her car and past two more parked outside, until they reached the path to the front door. She looked up at him, going for  _ are you being ridiculous? _ with her expression. 

“Well,  _ this _ ,” she said, gesturing to her whole stomach, as though that would be a very big reason for him to not desire her.

“What, the baby?”

“No, the  _ belly _ ,” she said exasperatedly, embarrassed to be asking about such a thing.

“Are you asking me if I’m attracted to you now, fully pregnant, belly and all?” 

She nodded, unable to say any more of the words in her mind. Thank goodness he did it for her.

But Sandor then gave her the  _ are you being ridiculous?  _ look, and nodded, stopping just outside the building’s door to face her under the glaring light of the entryway. He took a moment, looking as though he was thinking about his words. When he looked at her she was surprised to see that haze of desire in his gaze, smouldering in those gray eyes.

“Sansa.” 

Her name was deep and smooth on his lips, like he could show her how he felt in that one word. She felt goosebumps prickle her skin.

“I’ve already told you I’ve been attracted to you since before I knew you were pregnant. And seeing you like this, now, well…” He took both her hands in his, and brought them up to kiss both of them. “You’re like a fertility goddess.” His eyes raked up and down her body, and Sansa had the absurd notion that he’d be able to see her nipples harden beneath the padding of her bra. “You’re beautiful.”

She thought her heart might melt at his words, but she blushed instead, and Sandor chuckled.

“Is that so bad?” He used a finger to tilt her face up to his, their hands still clasped together. She smiled shyly, and shook her head.

“No, it’s not so bad,” she replied quietly, hopefully, and she knew it wasn’t. 

But as they walked inside and she invited him for coffee, she thought back to his little tirade at the hospital, and found herself thinking question after question as he unlocked her door and followed her in, hanging up her coat for her and stepping out of his boots.

He said she could sit while he made coffee, so she walked him through finding everything and soon was sitting on opposite sides of her couch from him, sipping the weak decaf she’d grown fond of during her pregnancy.

“So, about a name,” he said, setting his cup down on the box in front of them. She really needed to get a coffee table soon, she decided.

He seemed to want to discuss something other than sex and how much he apparently desired her and all things carnal. So she agreeably switched topics, because she wasn’t sure she was ready to discuss that, either.

“I just haven’t thought of any. I don’t want to do family names, and I don’t want anything that reminds me of anyone in my life I wouldn’t want him named after.”

“So Petyr is off the table, then?”

Sansa coughed, and needed to put her coffee down for the laughter he’d caused.

“Oh my gods, Sandor, don’t  _ do _ that!” 

But he was laughing too. He smiled at her. 

"Come on then, I'll help you pick a name." He took out his phone and moved so that he sat next to Sansa, causing that side of her body to become overly warm. Well, her entire body was overly warm, sitting next to him now that they had this newfound connection between them, but she didn't dwell on it.

Sandor started listing names from a list he'd found and Sansa would either say maybe or no, and she would write them down on a pad of paper. They had gone through perhaps a hundred, Sansa having written down Liam, Bryce, Bennett, Paxton and Travis. 

"I can't believe you wrote down Bennett," Sandor was saying. "It sounds like a last name."

"Yes, but last names can work as first names. Bennett Stark has a nice ring to it."

"What about Travis?"

Sansa wrinkled her nose. 

"I'm not crazy about that one. Travis Stark. No." 

"Something manly, then. Ronan."

"No."

"Desmond."

"No."

"Orion."

"Are you kidding me? He'd be teased all through childhood."

"Okay, what about Bowen?"

"Actually, I like that."

"It's masculine."

"And simple to spell."

"And he'd have a great wrestling name, should he choose to be a professional wrestler."

"What--" Sansa batted Sandor in the arm, laughing. "What makes you think he'd be a professional wrestler?"

"Well, nothing, but it's a possibility. Bowen The Great. Has a nice ring to it."

"I think with me as a mom he'd be more likely to be an artist, or a writer." She smiled up at Sandor, but was caught up short by the look on Sandor's face, the warmth in his eyes. If she didn't know any better, he was no longer thinking about names.

"With you as a mom, it doesn't matter what name he has because he'll be a good kid."

Sansa felt tears prick at her eyes. She chuckled and looked down at the pad of paper, not really seeing it. 

"Sandor, you have to stop saying such sweet things. Pregnancy hormones are making me cry at everything."

A strong arm came around and pulled her into his side, and she rested her head against his shoulder.

“I only say it because it’s true.” He squeezed her shoulder and they sat there,  _ Bowen _ written at the top of the pad of paper.


	24. Chapter 24

Sansa stayed curled up into Sandor’s side, perfectly content to sit there forever against the warmth of him, but her mind was racing despite the late hour.

Everything that had happened today was scrolling through her mind like a marquee--Davos’s lie about keeping keys and her pedicure day with the ladies. She smiled and flexed her toes, getting a better look at them now that they were curled up on the couch. Sandor saw her looking, and he leaned over to peek at them.

“Yellow?”

“It’s my favorite color,” she said. Sandor’s brow raised and he nodded.

“Mine too.”

Sansa smiled.

“Meant to be,” she joked, but it didn’t really seem like a joke when he tightened his arm once again and she put her head back against him.

“What’s that on your toe?”

Sansa pushed her foot out a bit, showing him the sticker on her toe. He huffed a laugh, sending a small jolt through her where she leaned on him.

“A hummingbird?”

“It’s because of what you call me.”

Sandor nodded sagely, and she tucked her foot back under her and turned further into him, her cheek now rubbing against his chest.

“Little bird,” he said, and she nodded, breathing in the scent of his shirt and his skin, of _him_. Then she yawned.

“I still can’t believe you did all of this for me,” she said then, waving a hand at all the new things he had brought into her apartment. “Sandor, it’s so amazing, it’s more than I ever could have wished for.” She brought a hand up to rub at her eyes. Her eyelids were starting to feel weighted.

“I did it because I wanted to…” He sounded like there was more to be said, but stopped. Sansa wasn’t going to let him.

“And?” she prompted, bringing her hand over to put it against her chest by her cheek. It was solid, muscular beneath her palm, and so warm.

He took a deep breath and Sansa marveled at how her whole torso moved with the simple action, _up_ and _down_.

“It was kind of Sam’s idea.”

Sansa chuckled sleepily, eyes closed now.

“Davos and the key, the ladies and the pedicure, Loras with the flowers, Gilly and Renly helping you, and Sam with this? Who _wasn’t_ involved??”

“Tormund, although his part was not keeping Brienne locked in his apartment all day so she could go with you.”

Another laugh, another yawn.

“But you said you’d had the diapers for a couple days.”

Sandor nodded, and she felt him lower his head to press a kiss to her hair. He left his lips there as he spoke.

“Sam told me I needed to woo you… Did it work?”

Sansa smiled into his chest.

“Hmmm. I’ll have to thank Sam the next time I see him.”

The rumbling came through the wall of his chest as he laughed into her hair.

“Are you tired, Sansa? You should be sleeping, for you _and_ the baby.”

“Bowen?”

“Yes, little bird, for Bowen.”

Sansa felt like she could sleep at any moment. But just one… more… question...

“Sandor?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you really imagine him to be yours?”

His breath stopped reaching her hair though his body hadn’t moved, and she knew he was holding his breath. It seemed funny, but she really wanted him to answer before she fell asleep. Dreamy Sansa rested her hand against his thigh and gave what she thought was an encouraging rub, trying to be supportive even in her half-asleep state.

“Because I like that idea,” she whispered, and then she yawned. What were they talking about again? Oh yes, babies. “And more babies, too,” she added, but sleep claimed her and she never heard his reply.

~≈~≈~

_Holy shit_. Did she just say that?

Sandor knew she was tired, knew after the ordeal they’d been through that evening that she was completely wiped out, but she’d been conscious enough to recall that fool thing he’d revealed at the hospital.

It was true, though--seeing her so hugely pregnant, holding Gilly’s baby, had been him witnessing what he would want a lottery to be if he won it--Sansa, holding their child, pregnant with their baby, doing her fertility goddess thing just by being her.

_Gods_ , he had fallen fast.

The baby she was carrying--did he really, honestly, think he could be the father? A good father to another man’s baby? But he knew the answer to that, even as the question formed in his mind.

He had _never_ viewed this baby as being anyone else’s other than Sansa’s. This baby never had a father, and could have been conceived via divine intervention, for all that Sandor associated it with two parents.

So yes, he absolutely _could_ picture himself stepping into the father’s shoes. For fuck’s sake, he’d already half-convinced Sansa to name it a name _he_ had picked! Bowen Stark. It really did have a nice ring to it.

But then, so did Bowen Clegane.

And… He gave her a squeeze at his next thought--she wouldn’t mind more babies? Did she mean with him? More babies to have with her, to name with her, to raise with her? He shut his eyes and rested his mouth back against her hair.

Thinking those thoughts was like waiting for the other shoe to drop. Sansa had waltzed into his life, and she and this baby boy had made a nest inside his heart, two little birds that he was having trouble seeing his future without. But what if something happened, and they _did_ leave? What if this dream didn’t work out, with a happily ever after?

He supposed that was the risk one took when accepting good things, when a sudden windfall such as Sansa and Baby Bowen--he just _knew_ she was going to pick that name--fell into his lap.

And if for any reason this happiness was short lived, he knew without a doubt that it would be the happiest stage of his life, and that for their time together, he would make Sansa and Bowen feel loved and cherished, for as long as they would have him.

But tomorrow was Thursday and he needed to work, so he reluctantly eased her off of him and into his arms, and carried her to bed. He laid her there fully dressed, and drew the covers up over her. Then he wrote her a note to call him any time and left his number on her nightstand, along with her phone. Tomorrow was a new day, and he needed to get some sleep so he would be well-rested enough to accept the joy it would bring.

~≈~≈~

Sandor received a call at just after eight the next morning, and he put down his paint roller to dig his phone out of his pocket to answer, not bothering to check to see who it was.

“Hello?”

“Hi Sandor,” came Sansa’s voice from the phone, and he nearly dropped the roller.

“Hey,” he said, though even to his ears it came out a suddenly turned-on rasp. Sansa laughed softly on the other end of the line.

_Everything’s changed_ , he thought, recalling the night before and how they’d spoken of baby names and how he had tried to woo her and how yellow was their favorite color. He also thought about how she’d drifted off after telling him that she liked the idea of her baby being his.

“I’m sorry for falling asleep on you last night, but thank you for putting me to bed.”

“It’s not a problem, little bird. You’re light as a feather.”

Her laughter was like sparkling champagne, and it made his heart thump in his chest.

“Sure. And I bet I don’t snore, either, right?”

“I didn’t stay around long enough to hear. But you do--I can hear it through the wall at night.”

This time she laughed heartily, and he along with her.

“You beast, that’s not nice.”

She chided him, but he could hear the smile in her voice. He put the roller in the paint tray and sat on his low step stool. They were silent for a moment, him listening to her breathing, before she spoke up again.

“So… I was wondering…” She paused, and he heard a dainty clearing of her throat. “Are you close by? I could make you lunch if you can make it here. I mean, if it’s not too much trouble.”

The uncertainty in her voice made him smile. From across the room he saw Pod freeze at the sight. Sandor shot him a look that said _Mind your own fucking business_ and turned his back on him, speaking quietly into the phone.

“Actually yeah, that sounds good--nice. I’m just a few miles away.” _Gods_ , this girl was tugging at his heart. No one had ever made him so much food. No one had ever done anything for him, and for now she was his. His alone. His heart tripped at the thought.

“Okay, great,” she replied happily. “What time is your lunch?”

“Twelve, so I can be there just after.”

“Something simple,” she was saying, sounding like she was thinking out loud. “Do you like grilled cheese? And salad?”

“You know I like all your cooking,” he replied, smiling again. Even to him he sounded like a lovesick fool.

Sansa’s laugh sounded nervous.

“Except my bird food,” she said jokingly, and Sandor cringed.

“Gods, you just _had_ to bring that up.”

He remembered that day so long ago when she had served him salad and he’d thrown a fit about how thin she was.

“Well, that kind of thing sticks with a woman. Especially when it’s the first time she’s called _pretty_ by the man doing the complaining.”

There was a pause as he remembered that detail about the conversation, though it wasn’t quite as she had remembered.

“You mean when the man says she’s too concerned with staying thin and pretty?”

Sansa’s laugh reached through the phone like a poke in the chest.

“I chose to remember what I remembered, and you called me pretty that day.”

Sandor smiled, picturing how she must look now--hair down, long and sleek and soft, lips smiling, eyes twinkling, belly round and body gorgeous as hell.

“Sansa, you’re more than pretty.”

His voice was rough but it was the truth. He’d die a happy man knowing he’d been able to gaze on her for these last few months.

“You’re not so bad yourself, sir,” she replied, and he laughed harshly.

“Yes, well, you wouldn’t be calling me _sir_ if you knew what I was thinking right now. And I know I’m an ugly bastard, you don’t have to say pretty words over me.” He wasn’t smiling now but his words weren’t stern, only plain.

Despite his thoughts, Sansa seemed to sense the seriousness behind his words regarding his appearance. She changed the subject and told him she’d have the food ready when he got back to the apartment, and to bring an appetite.

He went back to work, but was noticeably slower than normal. He just couldn’t concentrate, not with a looming lunch date with a pretty redhead on the clock for today.

For the rest of the morning he caught Pod looking at him occasionally, a bemused smile on the younger man’s face.

~≈~≈~

Sansa hadn’t felt this nervous in a long time. This was like first-date nerves, as funny as that seemed. She was having lunch in her apartment with a man she’d known for months, a man with whom just yesterday she had somehow, without really coming out and saying it clearly, entered into some kind of _relationship_ with.

And she felt like she was fifteen and being escorted to prom.

She was ridiculous.

But that didn’t stop her from brushing out her hair, tidying up the apartment, and picking out her best fitting dark blue maternity jeans and the burgundy shirt from the day of her baby shower when she’d given him the first kiss on his cheek.

Although when she examined herself in the mirror, her breasts were pushing out of the top and the bottom portion of the shirt was noticeably tighter around her belly than the first time. The jeans, however, looked the same, and she blushed, remembering his outburst at the hospital-- _I cannot_ handle _you in tight jeans_!!

She had a few doubts about dressing so nicely just for lunch, knowing in the back of her mind that it was in part because she wanted to look good for him, and that she wanted him to be attracted to her.

But later, as his truck rumbled up into the driveway, there was also the vain part of her that liked his compliments, liked knowing he thought she was beautiful, and that even this hugely pregnant, he was attracted to her body.

She watched as he swung out of the truck and slammed the door, her heart beating wildly as he jogged up the path, seeming as in a hurry to get to her as she was anticipating his visit.

Sansa opened the door of her apartment before he could knock, and she couldn’t do anything but smile up at him, seeing him for the first time with his hair pulled back and his scars on display for her to see.

He seemed to realize it at the same moment she did, because he reached back like he was going to untie his hair.

“No!” Sansa held up her hand, stopping him. He looked at her, sudden unease drifting over his features as her smile faded. “I mean…” She stammered, but couldn’t help the ridiculous smile she felt hogging her face. “Sandor, I--I like the way you look.” She blushed as she said it, her gaze fluttering nervously from his face to the floor and back again. Slowly he dropped his hands, though she knew he was self conscious of the scars, so she covered up the awkward moment by standing aside so he could enter.

He kicked off his boots by the door and sat at her dining table, having not yet said one word to her. He looked down at the drywall mud crumbles on the carpet beneath him and cursed.

“Shit, Sansa. I’m getting your floor dirty.”

Sansa just laughed and shook her head, pulling down two plates from the cabinet and two cold sodas from the fridge.

“Sandor, it’s okay,” she reassured him, scooping the grilled cheese sandwiches off the hot pan and putting them on the plates. As she walked back to the table with them, she smiled. “I’m not going to be upset because-- _Gods forbid_ \--you have a job. That’s a good thing.”

She retrieved the two sodas and the salad bowl and put them on the table. Then she went back for silverware.

“I should be helping,” he said quietly, watching her. Though when she turned he had to lift his eyes from her butt. She smiled knowingly.

“I’m pregnant, not injured. I _can_ still move around my own apartment.”

“Yes,” he said, popping open the tops of their two sodas. “But you shouldn’t have to.”

“Hush, and eat before it gets cold.”

Sandor took a bite of his sandwich and Sansa watched him chew. Almost immediately he looked up at her, chewing and swallowing the big bite.

“This is a grilled cheese?”

She nodded, not having taken a bite of her own yet.

“This doesn’t taste like any grilled cheese I’ve ever made.”

“That’s because I used garlic butter, and a mix of cheeses. Do you like it?”

Around another enormous bite, he said, “It’s fucking amazing.” Sansa laughed.

“I also made the bread this morning.”

Sandor shook his head and took a drink of soda.

“I’m going to get fat, I just know it.”

They sat and ate their meals, Sandor taking a second helping of salad when he was done with his first. Sansa managed to clean her plate of her first helping and then sat back, hand resting on the top of her belly.

She liked this--sitting across from Sandor at the table as he finished his food, seeing him in his white painter’s clothes, not at all bothered by the paint and mud smells coming off of him. He was a hard-working man, and she appreciated that.

As he finished, he motioned for her to remain sitting while he gathered their plates and rinsed them off in the sink. But she got up anyway, and pulled a bag out of the fridge to hand to him.

“What’s this?” He opened it and looked inside.

“A couple pieces of that bread, buttered, and some cookies.”

Sandor smiled, folding the top of the bag again and setting it on the counter.

“I said _you_ needed calories, not me. But thank you, I’m sure it will all be delicious.”

Sansa leaned back against the counter by the stove, facing Sandor as he did the same across from her against the sink. She was back to feeling nervous again, her heart fluttering as she became aware of the fact that he still had twenty minutes before he had to be back to work.

Silently she calculated fifteen minutes before he had to leave.

Fourteen minutes before he had to put his shoes on.

Probably twelve before they had to say goodbye.

And he was looking at her--all of her--like he wanted to memorize what she looked like, with the sunlight coming in the kitchen window and lighting everything up in a soft golden hue.

He pushed himself off the counter and walked the two steps until he was standing in front of her.

Sansa swallowed, holding her breath, wondering what he was going to do.


	25. Chapter 25

Sandor put his hands on her belly, splaying his fingers wide over the sides. Sansa’s breath hitched as she watched his face, feeling exactly how large his hands were with the pressure of the heels of his palms far away from the small caresses he was giving with his fingertips.

“How’s the little guy doing?” he asked, and her heart flipped inside her chest. His eyes were on her then, warm and concerned and…  _ something more _ .

“Bowen,” she said quietly, and he smiled at her, “Has learned a new trick.”

Sandor’s eyes narrowed, and she chuckled. 

“Put your hands here,” she angled his hands to the top of her belly, right in the middle, and he knelt on one knee as she pressed his hands into her stomach.

She knew it was harder than he anticipated, as his eyes shot up to hers and the look of concern on his face was plainly visible. Sansa smiled and shook her head. The sensation was slightly uncomfortable, but the resulting strong kicks from Bowen inside her and the look of wonder and shock on Sandor’s face made it worth it.

“ _ Shit _ ,” he cursed, staring at her stomach. Then he closed his mouth, swallowed hard, and watched as his own hands moved with the baby’s movements. 

Sansa laughed softly, putting a hand out on Sandor’s head and letting it drift down the scarred side of his face. When he looked up at her she was sure there was a sheen of tears on the bottom of his eyes, but one blink and it was gone. It still affected her, and she tilted his head up with a finger beneath his chin and leaned down to kiss him.

This moment between them tore at her heartstrings, making her feel for the first time what it would be like to be in this situation for real--she the mom, and he the dad, sharing an intimate moment like this in the quiet midday hour in the confines of her kitchen. It was so sweet, so cloyingly lovely, that she forgot for a moment that she  _ shouldn’t _ pour her heart out as his lips pressed softly to hers.

It was a sweet, chaste kiss, just a brushing of her lips against his, completely silent, incredibly intimate, but it inflamed her ardor and she couldn’t resist cupping the sides of his face, feeling the bumpy skin on his right and the scratchy beard and full ear on his left.

Sandor groaned and rose, his mouth never leaving hers as he suddenly lifted her to the counter and stepped into her, her belly pushing up against his.

“Sandor,” she whispered in alarm against his mouth, and he took advantage of the opening and swept his tongue inside, causing Sansa to feel the familiar pull of heat from deep within her, the pull that was happening more and more when thoughts of him would enter her mind late at night. So she wrapped her arms around his neck and would have ground herself against him had the baby not been in the way.

Sandor’s hands were all over her back and sides just like that day she straddled him on the couch, his fingers in her hair and grasping at her hips where they were perched on the edge, as he angled his head to deepen the kiss.

She was swept up in the carnality of the way he took control, and of the size of his body pressing hers into the counter. She wrapped her legs around the backs of his knees but it wasn’t enough, and as his kisses swept to the side and he captured her neck between his lips, she held onto his shirt, knowing full well he’d never let anything happen to her.

His mouth travelled down, down, until he was placing open mouthed kisses against the tops of her breasts, and Sansa unashamedly pulled his head into her skin.

“I want you,” he growled against her skin, and at her moaned  _ Yes _ he pulled her shirt up and over her head, dropping it on the floor beside him. Sansa grasped his head as he reached in and pulled one sensitive breast out of the top of her bra and latched his mouth onto the nipple, his movements quick and jerky, his need for her evident in his frenzied motions.

“Sandor--” she gasped, “Yesss,” and when he slipped his hand into the other side of her bra she hissed through her teeth, his fingers toying with the sensitive nipple. It was all she could do to keep her thoughts straight as she remembered the time.

“Sandor, you have to--to go to--work.” 

She said the words but didn’t mean them, and as he switched sides and sucked with a strong pull on her other breast she whimpered. 

Sansa couldn’t seem to keep her hands in one place, so instead they explored every inch of him she could reach--his hair, his scars, the thick column of his neck and the bunched muscles of his shoulders. She scratched her fingernails over the textured feel of his work shirt before sliding them back to his exposed neck and under the ponytail there, one arm snaking around to grasp his head to her chest while the other landed lower on his back and dragged fingernails up his spine.

She wanted to feel him, to drag that shirt up and over his head and to finally see him without the barrier of fabric covering his body. The urge was strong, and she barely managed to keep her hands from fisting into the t-shirt and giving into the urge.

He suddenly released her nipple and pressed open kisses all over her chest, cupping her breasts with both hands as his mouth travelled upwards where her neck was exposed, her head leaning back. He planted suckling kisses to the column of her neck, the combination of his fingers pinching and playing with her nipples and his hot mouth on her skin causing Sansa to feel the stirrings of more than just desire in the pit of her stomach.

The urge to drag him into the bedroom to release the ache overcame her, and was so strong that it pulled her out of the erotic haze she’d been in, and she suddenly pushed at him, chest heaving with deep breaths.

“Sandor,” she said, his name was a breathy rush of sounds as she tried to catch her breath. 

It took him only a moment to register what was happening, and he let his hands fall away from her breasts and stopped, his mouth still pressed to the skin where neck met shoulder. It was enough, and Sansa dropped her cheek to his shoulder where it rested in front of her face.

Then his arms were around her and suddenly she was pulled against his chest in a hug so tight, she almost had a hard time breathing. There they stayed, her arms wrapped around his middle as he rubbed at her shoulders. She could feel him breathing, could hear the fast thumping of his heart where her ear was pressed against his warm chest. Her own mimicked the rhythm, and she fought to control it with deep breaths, eyes closed at the sweet intimacy of the moment.

But he leaned back and watched her as she tucked herself back into her bra, a tight smile on his face as she felt his hands tighten to fists against her hips.

“Damn, little bird,” he rasped when she looked up at him again, his eyes on her chest, dark in a way she’d only seen a handful of times. 

Their kiss on the counter had been the hottest moment of her life, the sexiest thing she’d ever done, and he was still completely clothed. And the way her insides had suddenly coiled like… like…

Had she almost came? On her kitchen counter? With her pants and panties still on??

She felt her face flush as Sandor kept his lower body away from hers, though he leaned down to gently kiss her again, pausing an instant before their lips met for just a moment as if to reassure her that this would be a tame kiss.

“Those jeans,” he said by way of explanation, and she huffed a laugh. 

“Work,” was her reply, and he nodded, but his eyes were dark and struggling to not go over and over back to her chest. When he straightened and turned away from her she watched him adjust his front as he walked back over to the door.

Sansa gingerly slipped down off the counter, almost laughing when she thought that perhaps he should have helped her. But she bent down to pick up her shirt and slid it back over her head as he turned at the door, boots already back on his feet.

She was brought up short halfway through the living room at the look on his face. He was a different Sandor than what he’d been just a minute ago--now contrite, almost  _ sad _ .

“Hey,” she said softly, approaching him. He was so tall, and he was still breathing heavily. She was surprised to see irritation flash in his eyes as he looked down at her.

_ Oh, no you don’t _ , she thought. 

She recognized that look. An argument was brewing in his mind and she wasn’t sure where to go with their lunch date now. Argue? Console? 

“What’s going on?” She settled for  _ inquire _ , and expected the blaze in his eyes as he opened his mouth to speak.

“We shouldn’t have done that, Sansa. We need to be more careful.” He reached back and undid his ponytail to redo it, capturing wisps of hair she had accidently pulled out while he’d had his mouth on her breasts.

His words triggered something in her mind--something irritated and feminine and indignant.

“Why shouldn’t we have done that? We’re two consenting adults, and if I want to make out with you on your lunch break then you’re going to oblige me, because I know you want it, too!” 

She crossed her arms over her chest and watched his eyes glance down before they came up to rest again on her face.

“It’s not--It’s just--the baby, Sansa. We need to be careful of the baby.” His tone softened slightly, downgraded from irritation to mild exasperation. 

“Bowen will be fine,” she insisted. But she felt something else, now. She had felt the burning desire that could rage between them, and she didn’t want him to speak about it like it was a mistake, or that they should avoid it just because she was pregnant. So she took a step towards him, and when he took a step back and came up against the door, she stepped towards him again, cornering him until her stomach was inches away from his middle and he had to look down at her to see her face.

“You heard Dr. Mel,” she said, deciding he needed to be dealt with bluntly. “We can resume our  _ normal activities _ , and I’m pretty darn sure that includes necking.”

“I almost got carried away,” he reasoned, though she could hear his argument fading because he didn’t have anything better to say.

“And I  _ wanted _ you to get carried away, Sandor.” She reached out and took one of his hands in hers. “I  _ liked _ it.”

_ Ah _ , that got his attention. 

“So the next time you want to get carried away, remember this--” She reached up to pull his face down to hers, and before he left for work she gave him her most passionate, sexy, curl-his-toes kiss she had in her arsenal.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little fill-in chapter ;-)

Sandor spent the rest of his work day in a haze. Pod’s singing didn’t even phase him--not because it wasn’t annoying, but because the images of Sansa, sitting on her counter, breasts out and chest heaving, lips red from their kissing, was so  _ loud _ in his brain that nothing else mattered.

He had never seen anything more sexy in his entire life. 

And  _ Gods _ , he wanted to do it again.

That he had been so close to taking her, to making her completely his, had scared him. He hadn’t even realized what was happening until she’d pushed him away, and he wondered why she had done that. Though, admittedly, she’d obviously been more clear headed than he at that moment. 

And afterwards she had told him in no uncertain terms that she would welcome it again. It was obvious by the way she’d kissed him--hands messing up his ponytail again, leg wrapped around his calf and pregnant belly pressed close to him as though she just couldn’t get close enough--that she had enjoyed it.

Perhaps more than enjoyed it. He was almost certain that if her belly hadn’t been a barrier between them that there would have been a chance he would have been late back to work, and she would have spent  _ her _ afternoon lazing about in bed, completely and utterly ravished and sexed.

The picture had him going hard even as he operated the mud hopper.  _ Long, even lines, _ he reminded himself, his muscles braced to hold the machine steady as he swept it from side to side. It wouldn’t do for his boss to call him and ask why the fuck drywall mud was splattered in the customer’s home so unevenly.

Inwardly, Sandor wrestled with what to do now. He desired Sansa more than ever, and he wanted to see her, see more of her. The thought of seeing her completely naked, pregnant belly and beautiful breasts and--what color would her hair be between her legs?--had him turning off the hopper completely to take a break. 

He couldn’t concentrate, and it was all her fault.

Well, not really. It wasn’t her fault she was gorgeous, or even that she was a fantastic cook, funny, kind, and that she looked at him, scars and all, like she wanted to cover him with whipped cream and lick it off.

_ Okay, that may be her fault _ . But it was not her fault that he was thinking about her constantly now. She filled his mind for the rest of the day, so badly that he barely got any work done. For the first time ever, Podrick was a more productive employee than Sandor. 

The thing was, Sandor really was concerned about Bowen. What if Sandor was too caught up in what he was doing and somehow harmed the baby? What if… What if they made love? What if making love harmed the baby? Or sent her into early labor? Sandor didn’t think he’d ever forgive himself if something happened because he had pushed her into being intimate.

_ Normal activities _ , indeed. He was full of crippling doubts.

But then, Dr. Mel was a doctor, and she would know, right?

_ Fuck _ !! He didn’t know up from down, here. Right from left. Right from  _ wrong _ . He was in uncharted territory and didn’t know what to do.

He was fairly certain that Sansa would welcome his advances if he made it known that he wanted to have sex.

Wait, did he? Did he really want to have sex? 

_ Fuck yes _ , came the immediate reply in his own voice inside his mind. He had been attracted to her from the start, and as her body changed, the attraction had just amplified, and now…

Did that make him sick? Was it wrong to be so attracted to her, being in the state that she was in?  _ Fuck _ .

He wished he had someone to talk to about this, but there was no one. And it scared him that he had finally found something--someone--in his life that had thrown him through a loop. For the longest time, for decades, he had been on his own living a fairly uncomplicated life. And now…

He pictured Sansa on the counter again, breasts lifted by her bra and those lips wet from their kisses. 

He was going to have to pull the truck over and take himself in hand if he kept at this.

By the time he pulled into the apartment parking lot he was no closer to a solution than when he’d left her apartment after lunch. And she’d parted with him with a dinner invitation that there was no way in hell he would turn down.

The one thing he was sure of, was that he was looking forward to her company tonight.

So when he entered the building his feet found him at her door instead of his, and he knocked before he could convince himself to go shower first.

The door opened almost immediately, and he wondered if she had been waiting for him. Smells came from her apartment that made his mouth water. She was  _ such _ a damned good cook.

But there she stood, hand still on the edge of her door, and all the uncertainty of the last hour of his tumultuous thoughts was washed away when she blushed and had trouble meeting his eyes. 

“Sansa,” he said, her name always sounding like the sweetest greeting on his tongue.

“Hi Sandor,” she said shyly, looking up at him. It seemed silly to him that she be shy after what they’d done that afternoon, but at the same time it didn’t--he felt shy himself, knowing where his thoughts had been all afternoon.

“I’m, uh, I’m going to go take a shower and I’ll be back soon.” He knew it sounded lame, and silly that he hadn’t gone and showered first, but she just bit her lip and smiled at him, nodding. 

“I just didn’t want you to think I’d forgotten… Or that… That I didn’t want to see you first.”

Again, that smile and her worrying her lip. Desire shot straight to his groin.

“Stop that, Sansa,” he said before he could stop himself, and her lips parted.

“Stop what?”

He waved a hand at her face.

“Doing that thing with your mouth.” 

She did it again.

Sandor suddenly forgot where he was, what he was wearing, what time of day it was, what he had been  _ supposed _ to be doing, and he stepped into the apartment and lowered his mouth to hers, not touching her until she brought her hands up to clasp the sides of his face, rubbing her mouth over his lips with a sigh that told him she’d been waiting for him to do this.

He wrapped his arms around her back, feeling her arch slightly as he deepened the kiss.

A timer started going off in the kitchen, and Sansa released his tongue to laugh against his mouth as he growled. She pulled her face away from his, though kept a hold on his neck.

“I have to go get that,” she whispered, her blue eyes half-closed and full of desire. Sandor could only nod.

When she let go of him he did the same, and she stepped back. 

“I’ll see you in a few minutes?”

Again, he nodded, feeling as though showering was the last thing he wanted to do when she brought the heel of her hand up to wipe at the wetness their kiss had left on her mouth.

“Hurry back,” was her response as he backed out the door and left.

He was back in five minutes, having showered and changed in record time. He let himself in, as she hadn’t locked the door--though he decided not to say anything about it and possibly ruin the evening--and saw that she was already setting the table.

Though it was difficult to keep his hands off of her, they spent the next hour sitting at the dining table talking, mostly about her but a little bit about him. She told him about her family and all her siblings, about growing up in the North and how she liked to go back and visit. 

She touched on the relationship that had ended with Bowen, and she told him about an agreement she had with the baby’s grandmother and the father’s willingness to give up parental rights. He agreed with Sansa that going it alone was better than being saddled with that little shit of a man. Sandor knew Jaime and had met Tyrion when he’d worked security for the man ages ago, but he had also heard enough stories about the other Lannisters that caused him to be thankful Joffrey had the presence of mind to rid himself of the woman who was pregnant with his child.

No,  _ not _ his child. It would never be a Lannister. Stark, yes. Clegane, possibly. But never a Lannister.

When dinner was finished they retired to the couch, Sansa curling up at his side as they watched a TV show, something science-related on PBS. He wasn’t sure. With the way Sansa was rubbing his thigh through his jeans, he had trouble concentrating on anything but her--her hair against his cheek, her warmth against his side, the rounded belly that obscured most of her lap.

He didn’t want to mess this up, and so sometime during that hour he decided not to push the physical in their relationship. By the way she had responded to him earlier at lunchtime, he wasn’t sure if she would be happy about that.

But it seemed like she was, as they parted that night after some heavy kissing on the couch, and she was smiling when she closed the door on him.

And she was smiling when she met him the next day at her door for lunch, and that evening when she made dinner for him again. And it was that way for the rest of the week, with kissing being as far as they went whenever they got together. Sandor thought he’d be happy if that’s all they did for the rest of their lives, as kissing her and feeling her hands on him was the most pleasurable thing he had ever known.

He wanted a repeat of the other day when he had had her up on the kitchen counter, hot and passionate and needy for him. 

But… He was happy. Happier than he had ever been, and it was in part due to the kisses they shared, the small talks, the way they were slowly getting to know each other without the impediment of a sexual relationship.

~≈~≈~

Sansa was not happy. Pregnancy hormones were raging within her, and even though her OB said it was natural, Sansa felt very  _ un _ natural when all she could think about while Sandor was in her apartment was how to get him in bed. 

Night after night he left her off-kilter, feeling like she wanted more as they kissed goodbye at her door. And as she laid in bed she would think about what it would be like to have her with him. She wanted to know what he looked like, how much hair he had on him, how it would feel to sleep next to someone so much taller than her.

She wanted  _ more _ , as well. Sansa would wake from dreams where he was inside her, and she would feel moments away from calling him in the middle of the night to come over and meet her in bed. 

She wanted to, but she never did. 

There was only three days left until her due date and as of yet, there was no signs of labor. It was a constant question of when she was going to need to call Sandor for a completely different reason--that she was going to have the baby.

He asked her about it every day--how she felt, if the baby was moving, was she feeling okay, eating okay, sleeping okay. She would tell him the truth about all of them, except for that last one. She didn’t know how long she could go without revealing to him the truth about her dreams, or her lack of sleep.

Sandor came to visit her that morning, saying he’d heard her moving around and wanted to say good morning. So when she held the door open to let him in, she hadn’t bothered with a robe. There she stood, braless and in her stretchy nightgown, with the look in Sandor’s eyes easing her mind about seducing him.  _ He wants this _ , she decided. It gave her courage.

This morning had just been setting the stage--she wanted him to think about her all day, and she felt that she accomplished that by giving him a heated kiss just before he walked out, knowing that the way he looked at her, the way his eyes darkened and he was taking in her whole body, meant that she had done her job well.

She called him just before lunch.

“Hey,” he said, his voice making her toes curl at the raspy sound coming through the phone.

“Hey. I’m sorry about this morning, I didn’t get dressed until about an hour ago. I hope you didn’t mind seeing me in my nightgown.”

Sansa cringed. Good lord, that sounded lame. But she heard Sandor clear his throat, and she knew he was picturing what she’d looked like.

“No, uh… I didn’t mind.” He sounded uncomfortable.  _ Perfect. _

“Are you still coming? For lunch? I’m making turkey burgers.”

Sansa didn’t even cringe that time at her crassness; just couldn’t bring herself to care about it. She was a little bit desperate.

“Yes,” he growled.

“Great! I’m going to hop in the shower before you do. I feel so dirty after working all morning on projects.” Which was slightly true, even if her aim was to have him picture her in the shower.

His answering grunt told her she'd likely been successful.

“I’m running out of my berries and cream body wash, could you bring me to the store this weekend to get some more?”

“Mm hmm.”

“Great! I’ll see you soon!”

“Uh.”

Sansa laughed after she hung up the phone.

Maybe this was actually going to work.


	27. Chapter 27

Sansa was standing in the kitchen, her back to him, when he walked in through her door and locked it behind him. When she turned from the stove he was looking at her intently--probably, she assumed--wondering why she was wearing a maternity sundress when the weather was turning cool outside.

“Hi!” she said cheerfully, and she motioned for him to sit at the table. He grumbled a hello and did as she asked, though he watched her move about the kitchen, telling him about the projects she’d worked on that morning and how she would be ready to ship out the last of her custom orders tomorrow.

“Maybe we can stop by the post office when you take me to the store?” She set the bowl of stew down in front of him, knowing full well that he'd look down the front of her dress. Then she sat in the chair to his left rather than across from him like she usually did, acting as though it was no big deal that her leg was resting against his under the table. Every so often she would shift in her seat, rubbing it against his just to remind him of its presence.

“You seem grumpy today,” she offered as she took a drink of water. “Is everything okay?”

Sandor looked up at her, just a glance before he went back to his stew, but not before his eyes darted once again to her chest.

“Long day at work already,” he said, and he lifted a big spoonful to his mouth.

Sansa realized she'd been watching his hands, and she caught herself before he looked up again.

“Me too,” she said. “I haven't been sleeping well.” 

It was the truth, and she didn't have much else to say. 

But she watched him when she could--liking how his dark hair was tied back, exposing the strong column of neck. She liked the way his jaw moved beneath his beard as he ate, and how his strong forearms rested on the table. How tall he sat in his chair, and the way she could feel the warmth of his skin through the roughness of the paint-splattered material of his work pants.

Abruptly she stood, her bowl not quite finished. It was almost time for him to go back to work and she was going to drive  _ herself _ nuts with wanting him instead of the other way around. 

He finished his stew and water, and followed her into the kitchen. Sansa could sense him behind her, and as she rinsed her bowl off at the sink he walked up to her, sliding an arm around her to put his bowl in the sink.

She had left her hair down again, thinking he liked it that way even though she'd never asked him about it. 

So when she felt his fingers push it out of the way, she shivered and put down the bowl she was holding.

It was just in time, because she felt his lips on her skin then, and she automatically tilted her head to the side.

His lips were dry but soft, and he moved upwards as he held her hair, his mouth pressing against the sensitive skin behind her ear.

“Sansa,” he growled there, and she had to bite back a moan. She wasn't sure who was seducing who, but she had the suspicion that the tables had turned.

His mouth travelled lower to the curve of her neck, and he dropped her hair to rest his hands gently on her waist, fully stepping into her body as he brought his opposite arm around her to put his hand on the lower curve of her belly. Then with his other hand he reached over and tilted her face to his, looking into her eyes for a moment with his own silver gray depths.

Sansa's heart was beating fast and she didn't want to mess around. When she turned and pulled him down to her, his mouth on hers, she immediately opened for him, letting him know with her body that she didn't want small, chaste kisses.

He seemed to get the message loud and clear, as before she knew what was happening, she was back up on the counter by the stove and he was stepping inside her legs, his hands in her hair holding her head captive as his tongue tasted and his lips coaxed. 

_ Yesss,  _ she heard in her mind, and she didn't realize she'd said it out loud until he answered her.

“Yes,” he growled against her jaw in answer, as his beard scratched at her sensitive skin. 

His hands were  _ everywhere _ , just like last time--in her hair, on her neck, her shoulders, back, hips, thighs, then up her stomach and finally cupping her breasts. Sansa moaned into his hair as he placed a trail of open mouthed kisses down her chest until he had her breasts up and out, licking and sucking at one as he used his fingers to toy with the other. It was too much--perfect--and Sansa was delirious with desire.

“Sandor, I want you,” she groaned, and his movements seemed even more fevered at her words.

“ _ Fuck _ , don't say that, little bird,” he rasped, switching his hands and mouth so that her other breasts was getting the same attention.

“Why?” 

The word was strangled, his hair a mess where she'd pulled out the tie so she could hang onto something. She gripped him and lowered her face to the crown of his head. Then he nipped her gently with his teeth and she jumped, feeling the familiar pull of desire pooling in her core.

Her plan wasn't going as she'd thought. This wasn't supposed to happen until tonight!

“I have to go back to work, damn it!” He switched again, biting at her nipple before his lips moved upwards, over her collarbone to her neck where he sucked hard, making Sansa writhe against him from her perch. 

Even in her frenzied state, Sansa couldn't bring herself to ask him to stay. He did need to go back to work, and as she felt him return her breasts to her bra and sundress, she moaned mournfully, pressing kisses now to his cheek, his temple, forehead, lips. She kissed him with everything she had, but stiffened when she suddenly felt his fingertips against the fabric of her panties.

She knew she was wet for him, but she lost all self conscious thought as soon as his hand slipped beneath the lace and found her core.

“ _ Fuck _ ,” he cursed again, against her mouth as his fingers ran through her slick folds. He leaned her back into his other arm to gain better access, and found her sensitive nub with the pad of her thumb.

“ _ Sandor! _ ” she cried out, holding onto his shoulder as his fingers moved on her skin. This was not what she had intended to happen today at lunch--it was better. He stroked her, gently increasing his rhythm as he slipped a finger inside her. Immediately her muscles clamped around him, and he growled against her mouth.

It took only a couple strokes and some coaxing with his finger for her to come undone in his arms, and he held her as aftershocks rippled through her and he withdrew his hand.

“ _ Gods _ , Sansa,” he groaned, pressing his forehead to hers as strong arms wrapped around her. Sansa clasped his shirt in both of her hands, her body trembling and her breath shaky as she smiled up against his mouth. 

_ Well _ . She didn't know what to say.

“That was…” 

But she shook her head, brushing her lips against his in the barest, sweetest kiss. She didn't have any words for it.

“Yeah,” he agreed, nodding before drawing her lip between his. He kissed her gently, and Sansa liked the way his beard scratched at her skin while his tongue and lips were so soft against her own.

She decided now was not the time to be coy, so she smiled.

“We should do it again sometime.”

Sandor just nodded sagely. 

“Like, tonight,” she offered.

Again, Sandor merely nodded. Sansa brought her mouth back to his good ear, her hand cupping the scarred side of his face.

“And maybe I can return the favor?”

Sandor answered her with wide, shocked eyes and then a searing kiss that rattled her to her core. It was a kiss that told her her words were his promise, and by the time he left they'd kissed with her up against the wall, with her leaning on the back of the couch, and finally with his back to the door, her slim hands pulling at his face as he bent over to press his lips to hers, trailing a rough path down the column of her throat and back again.

She was left breathless and turned on. But with a smile and a sigh, she decided he was likely in the same exact condition.

~≈~≈~

The next four hours were the longest of Sandor's life. Today things with Sansa had taken such an unexpected turn that he would find himself standing in the middle of an empty room in the house he was drywalling, hands on his hips, lip drawn under his teeth, staring off into space like his mind had just up and disappeared in a puff of smoke. 

It was the damnedest thing.

All he could think about was how she had responded to his touches, wrapped in his arms, with his name on her lips. He'd never been with a woman who was attracted to him, and certainly not to the extent that Sansa was. Most times it seemed he was Plan B, a convenient substitute when they didn't have access to a man they actually thought was good looking. 

So to have Sansa do  _ that _ \--climax happily while allowing Sandor to touch and stroke her--made his mind turn to fuzz.

_ It was the damnedest thing _ .

Podrick stayed clear of him after lunch, probably noting the strange, oddly happy, pensive mood Sandor was in. The lack of surly attitude may have thrown him off, just like the other day when he'd caught Sandor smiling.

Sandor wasn't smiling now, but he  _ was _ thinking. And picturing. And imagining. So much so that when he walked into the apartment building he was halfway hard and ready to make love. 

It took a lot of willpower to walk past Sansa's door and enter his own apartment. But once he was there he stripped, showered, and dressed in just a few minutes, then locked his door on the way out. 

He wasn’t sure what to expect when he knocked on her door, but it wasn’t the puff of smoke that escaped when she opened the door, nor a frazzled Sansa looking at him helplessly as a smoke alarm started to sound behind her.

“What happened??” 

He rushed into her apartment and over to the kitchen, where a nice sized roast sat on top of the open, smoking oven.

“I don’t know, I’ve never cooked a roast before!” 

She sounded a bit upset but he was focused on getting the smoke detector to stop beeping. He opened the window in the kitchen and had her open the living room windows while he took a cookie sheet pan and fanned the smoke detector. Sansa coughed and waved her hand in front of her face.

“Step outside, Sansa, and I’ll take care of this.” 

He was glad she did as he asked, though she stood just outside her door. It wasn’t long before he saw her joined by both Tormund, and also Sam and Gilly.

“I burned the roast,” Sansa was telling Gilly, who smiled at her and said something about tenting foil over the meat.

“It’s not the roast that burned, but the splatters inside your stove.” Gilly walked into the apartment and inspected the roast, poking it with a fork that was sitting in a spoon rest on the counter. “It’s good!” she called out, and she offered up a quiet  _ hello _ to Sandor on her way by. 

He nodded at her, waving the pan at the ceiling.

“If you need help waving that pan, let me know,” said Tormund, who winked at Sansa. Sandor saw her smile, though she blushed. Out of embarrassment, he hoped.

“And hey, at least you know your smoke detector works,” added Sam. 

He sounded like he thought he was imparting actual helpful information, and Sandor just looked at him, not amused. The smaller man smiled weakly, and awkwardly turned to guide his wife back into their apartment. Sandor caught Sansa’s eyes and her raised eyebrow, most likely at his lack of response to Sam.

“Brienne and I are having beers and brats, if you two would like to join us for dinner.” Tormund had that shit-eating grin on his face, as usual, and he looked at Sansa with a hand outstretched towards his apartment. But she looked back through her own door at Sandor before answering Tormund.

Her eyes slid down his body and he could have sworn he felt her soft touch through his clothes. Her gaze landed on where his shirt had ridden up with his raised arms, exposing a bit of skin on his stomach between the hem and the waistband of his low slung sweatpants. He could feel a breeze there, and he watched her eyes focus on it. He didn’t think she realized that her tongue came out to wet her lips, and she shook her head without looking back at the redhead.

“Thanks, but I think I’ve got it from here,” Sansa said, and she tossed him a quick cursory glance that was ingrained politeness more than it was heartfelt acknowledgement of his invitation. 

“Eh. More for me and Bri,” Tormund said, though he gave a bold wink at Sandor as Sansa shut the door to the apartment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, I guess I really wanted this drawn out... My apologies, guys. I started writing this fic, I don't know, a year and a half ago? It's been done and simmering in Google Docs. Blame the past Me, not the current Me. 
> 
> They're two different people...


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You see, if I had made the chapters twice as long there wouldn't be so many dang cliffhangers... Lesson learned lol.

The smoke had cleared enough to shut the windows so Sandor took out two plates and silverware as Sansa sliced the perfectly cooked roast, all the while being totally aware of exactly where her body was in relation to his.

This level of awareness was new to him, too. It was just one more thing he'd have to get used to.

He watched her move about, shooting surreptitious glances in his direction and covering her nervousness with smiles and busy hands. But when they sat at the table with the roast and vegetables between them, there was nothing left for them to use to avoid communicating with each other.

Sandor was glad that she spoke first, as he was having trouble not picturing her climaxing on her counter earlier.

“How was your day?” She cut into her tender roast and put a small piece in her mouth. Sandor watched her jaw move as she chewed.

“Uneventful,” he said, but her eyes met his.  _ She knows that's a lie _ , he thought as he watched the corners of her mouth turn up.

“Mine, too,” she murmured after swallowing. But it was written plainly on her face--neither of them was really capable of making small talk.

She was beautiful now, dressed in the same dress from earlier though now she had on leggings and had pulled her hair up into a high ponytail. It accentuated her long neck and graceful shoulders, showing off her pale, perfect skin. 

Sandor was burning to know where they were taking this today, but he stayed silent while they ate. Soft piano music drifted in from the living room, her ever present Bluetooth speaker a reminder of exactly how long he had imagined her to be his. Even in the beginning when she'd first moved in, his seemingly random feelings for her had grown stronger every time they spoke, until it made him mad to realize he was falling in love with her without his own permission.

Now that he'd been able to move past most of that frustration, he was looking forward to the next step in their relationship, despite not knowing at all what that was.

When they had finished their food he brought their plates to the sink and began rinsing them. Through the window he could see darkness, so he reached over and pulled the curtains shut. If anyone was out there, he didn't need them spying in on Sansa.

He was wondering if she ever walked around late at night or early in the morning underdressed when her delicate hands touched the skin at his sides. It startled him but he didn't jump--except for his heart, which momentarily took up residence in his throat. He was incredibly unused to anyone touching him, though it seemed like Sansa enjoyed it. That meant that he would strive to enjoy it as well.

Her hands slid forward and he felt her belly press against him, and then she must have leaned forward because he felt her forehead press into the middle of his back.  _ Poor woman _ , he thought,  _ Unable to get comfortable with that baby inside her. _

A thought popped into his mind and he grasped it, wanting to combat the awkwardness of the evening. He put the plates down and turned in her arms, so that now she rested her cheek against the solid muscle of his chest. 

Hugging was also quite new to him, but he'd found that he liked it with her, the few times they’d done it. He liked how she felt resting against him, and the way her arms settled just above his hips, loosely draped around him as she leaned into him like she trusted him to just be there for her.

He would find himself stroking her hair or rubbing her shoulders and back, getting to know the contours of her body.

Like now, when he used his hands to massage her lower back and hips. Though this time she groaned softly into his shirt, which also made her laugh.

“Does this feel good?” he asked into her hair. Sansa nodded, and Sandor remembered the birthing class they’d taken.

“I’ll rub your back if you want.” He kept his tone neutral, as he wasn’t sure if that’s something she would actually want outside that incredibly uncomfortable class. But she looked up at him and the look in her eyes was purely adoration. He chuckled as she answered.

“I would love that, Sandor. It’s been kind of achy lately.”

They moved to the living room where she knelt in front of the couch, not having an exercise ball to lean on. When she sat on her heels and leaned her arms onto the couch he assumed a position behind her.

She looked good.  _ Really _ good. Though he knew he thought she looked good in any position she was in. But seeing her like this--her back elongated, her bottom round and pointed at him, and her stockinged feet off to the sides--made him want to rub her  _ front _ instead of her  _ back _ . 

Shaking himself out of those thoughts, he began massaging her lower back, watching the side of her face that he could see from where she’d rested her cheek against her crossed arms. She had her eyes closed, and he began kneading her lower back muscles with his thumbs.

His fingers spread out to the side and squeezed her hips, her waist, and up to her ribcage before travelling back downwards. He watched her back round with a deep inhale, and she let it out slowly, the absence of air in her torso causing her back to arch slightly. 

The movements of his hands inched her shirt up, and without thinking Sandor pulled it up to just under her bra and began to rub with his bare hands. Her skin was unbelievably smooth, the muscles beneath her skin tensing at the new sensation. He noticed her breathing coming a little bit faster than it had before, and she squirmed a couple times, her butt wiggling just enough to draw his attention.

He groaned, only realizing he’d done it out loud when he saw her eyes open and stare off to the side. But he kept up his attentions on her back, his hands warming her skin--or was it the other way around--softly working out the tightness of her muscles.

His hands wanted to drift downwards, to round over her bottom and feel it in his hands, so to distract himself he spoke the first thing that came to mind.

“Have you decided on the name being Bowen?”

The slight rising of her cheek behind her shoulder told him she smiled at his question.

“I did. I like it, and it’s a good name, for a good boy. Thank you, Sandor, for suggesting it.”

“We came up with it,” he insisted, but she shook her head.

“No, it was your name, you thought of it.” She blinked, then asked, “I’m not taking it from you, am I? I know some people get possessive over baby names sometimes.”

Sandor huffed, leaning forward to run his thumbs up either side of her spine as his fingertips drifted softly over her skin. The action gave her goosebumps.

“No,” he rasped, and then cleared his throat as he watched her skin react to his touch. “I never thought myself the fathering type, so I gave up on kids long ago. The name is yours, if you want it.”

He saw her brow lower, and her voice was skeptical when she spoke.

“Not the fathering type? Sandor, I think you’d be an excellent father. Why would you say that about yourself?”

His laugh was quietly harsh.

“I come from a long line of drunk no-goods who probably shouldn't have had children. I never expected to pass on my genes, never  _ wanted _ to pass on my genes. Avoiding generational curses and whatnot.”

“And now? Do you still fancy yourself never being a father?”

Sandor’s hands slowed and came to a stop on her back, her question being weighted with anticipation, expectation, and what his answer would mean for their future. Together. With a baby. Remembering his thoughts from the other day, of  _ Bowen Clegane _ , he cleared his throat.

When Sandor spoke again, his voice was cautious as his hands resumed their work.

“Well… I’m with you, now.” He swallowed, wondering what exactly she wanted him to say, but also knowing he needed to tell her what was on his mind instead of placating her with pretty words.

“I never thought to be a father, but I’ve grown fond of you… And of Bowen. So I would like to be around for the two of you.”

_ There _ . That was a good answer. Perhaps they could move on from this topic, as he was starting to wonder what was going on in that pretty little head of hers.

He didn’t have long to wait, because she spoke up almost immediately.

“But what if I don’t want you to just  _ be around for the two of us _ ?”

Sandor heard her answer and felt exasperated. Things were never going to be simple with her, he could just tell.

“Speak plainly, Sansa. What do  _ you _ want?”

His hands dropped to his thighs and she labored as she turned, kneeling on the floor in front of him, their knees almost touching.

“I suppose… I suppose I assumed that if you wanted to date, that you would… You know… Be dating both of us.”

“You and Bowen?”

She nodded. Then she shrugged and looked down at her hands where they fidgeted on her lap.

“I mean, hadn’t you thought about that?” Her blue eyes came up to meet his. “We’re… together now. And you know I’m a package deal--me and Bowen. So… If you want me, you have to want him as well.” 

She spoke in a matter of fact tone, but her eyes were hopeful, and he found himself unable to deny her anything. He reached out and took her hands in his, bringing them to his lips to kiss the backs of her knuckles.

“Are you asking me if I want to be Bowen’s father?”

Sansa pursed her lips, blushed, and nodded, appearing wary but determined. It showed him she’d wanted to ask him but just hadn’t known how to get the words out. He could empathise with that--he was having a problem with this conversation, as well.

_ Fuck _ . There was no way around this, and as much as he liked Sansa, was growing to love this woman and her child, self-preservation caused his words to be quiet and guarded, his own eyes betraying none of the enthusiasm he actually felt for the subject.

He had just bid her to speak plainly, so he did as well, wondering if at some point in the future his words were going to come back to bite him in the ass.

“I do like the sound of Bowen Clegane.”

With his hair almost in his face and his hands laying hot and heavy on his thighs, he knew he must look unsure of himself at those words, but the smile that spread over Sansa’s face was worth it. 

Those simple words had obviously made her deliriously happy, as suddenly she was launching herself into his arms and he was tilting back on his ass, this redheaded woman’s arms around his neck in a fierce grip.

“Thank you, Sandor,” she whispered, and then she hiccupped and Sandor realized she was crying. He growled into her shoulder and held her against him, his own arms wrapping around her back and easing her onto his lap.

He let her cry, and rubbed and soothed her through the thin material of her shirt.  _ Pregnancy hormones _ , he decided. But no sooner had the label crossed his mind when he felt her lips on the scarred side of his neck, her hand coming up to cup his good cheek. Her thumb absently stroked his beard as she kissed upwards across the line of his scar where his beard started to grow, until she found his lips with her own.

“You’re going to be a great dad,” she murmured, kissing and nipping at his lips while her hands ran over his forehead and hair, pushing it out of his face and back along his neck and ears. Sandor kissed her back, his hands sliding over her back and sides and hips, pulling her close to him as she opened for his mouth.

The implications of what they’d just discussed wreaked havoc on his self control. This woman wanted him in more ways than he could have ever imagined a woman wanting him. 

It was like alcohol in his blood--creating a firestorm that refused to be extinguished.


	29. Chapter 29

Their kisses were fervid, their hands moving over each other like they wanted to memorize the other’s skin and contours. 

Sandor wanted her pressed against him, so he coaxed her to straddle him, his legs stretched out against the floor. He could touch all of her this way, and he nearly did, though he kept his hands off her chest and the juncture of her thighs, wanting it to be her that brought them to the next level.

Her touches progressed from his shoulders, arms and back, to tentative brushes of her hands against his chest, sliding up to his neck and  _ feeling _ him, really feeling the way he was shaped. He could sense it in her hands as her palms conformed to whatever curve or indent they found, the way her fingertips dipped into the hollow of his throat and caressed the contours of his chest. More and more bold they grew, and her touches wound their way down to the hem of his shirt and she began to tug at it.

Sandor got the message, though he was shaken to realize he was suddenly self-conscious. She had never seen him with his shirt off, nor had anyone since he was a child. Would she like what she saw? What she felt?

She seemed to sense his hesitation, because with a last chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth she pulled back, hands resting on his collarbones.

Those eyes of hers searched his, though he didn’t know what she hoped to find. Her mouth was red, her lips swollen, wet and open. 

There must have been something on his face that evoked an emotional reaction from her because she leaned forward and pressed another kiss to his lips, eyes open as she pulled back. Then she leaned forward again, eyes still open, pressing kisses to his cheek, his nose, his forehead, her fingers preceding her lips with soft caresses, a path for her mouth to follow.

It was so sweet and so… so  _ loving,  _ that he merely stared back at her, waiting for her to show him what she wanted him to do.

Without a word she reached down and pulled her modest dress up over her rounded stomach and over her head, letting it drop to the floor beside them.

He wondered absently if all men found the pregnant body to be attractive, because he hadn’t been able to keep his eyes off Sansa for months. Whether she was sitting, standing, bending, or walking--it didn’t matter. Seeing that round bump had awoken such a strangling attraction for her that it choked him when he wasn’t expecting it. 

It was the protectiveness he felt--that she needed him and the baby needed him, to watch over them because they were both so fragile. And it was the fear that something would happen to them. And, he had to admit, the idea that he could be a father to her child, a husband to her someday--he felt like his own pregnancy hormones were raging.

But this was how he liked her best--nearly naked in front of him,  _ wanting _ to let him touch her, to let him kiss her and taste her, and not just  _ willing _ to allow it to happen. 

She had exposed herself for him, so he wanted to do the same for her. So when she took hold of the hem of his shirt and lifted slowly, he raised his arms and let her pull it off of him.

He watched her face and the way her eyes widened slightly at the sight of his chest. He was covered in hair, and it didn’t really seem to stop between his beard and his… ankles. And if he’d ever had the opportunity to contemplate exposing any of it in front of a woman in a room that wasn’t completely pitch black, he would have been aware of how self-conscious about it he was. 

But since that had never happened, and since he and Sansa were sitting on the floor of her extremely well-lit living room, it all came crashing down on him in this instant.

He took in one last glance of her face as she looked at his chest, noting that neither disgust nor particular interest was there in her expression, and he closed his eyes, his hands fisted against the curves of her hips.

They sat there for a short while, Sandor trying to keep his breathing steady while Sansa sat unmoving on his lap. Whatever ardor he had felt moments ago had fled, and he waited--for what, he wasn’t sure. He wasn’t sure he wanted to admit that he was expecting the worst.

“Hey,” she whispered, and Sandor opened his eyes to look at her face, fully expecting her expression to read reluctance and a desire for them to part and for him to leave. 

But instead of reluctance, or the disgust he wondered would appear, he saw concern in her furrowed brows and the downturn of her chin. 

“You okay?” she asked, once he looked into her eyes. 

Her voice was soft, quiet in a way that spoke to a complete lack of self awareness and instead a focused regard for Sandor’s state of mind. 

His voice had left him, and in the presence of such unadulterated worry for his well being, Sandor opened and closed his mouth in a bid to reply but nothing came from his mind besides a rush of strong emotions that threatened to close his throat.

Sansa must have seen it. Surely, from this close she must have seen his hesitation and confusion because the revulsion he had expected moments ago never came. What did was the slightest smile, and her hands--tentatively pressing her palms against his upper chest and skimming them down, her fingers turning outwards as the flat of her hands skimmed over his nipples.

It was such a shock to him that he closed his mouth, but she wasn’t looking at him when his gaze fell on her face. She was focused on his chest, her lips barely parted and her eyes dark with desire. She was staring at him so intently that he flinched and squirmed under her perusal.

That’s when her eyes snapped up to his, and her smile flicked across her lips before disappearing just as suddenly, to be replaced by her tongue coming out to wet her lips.

Sandor groaned but refused to close his eyes. 

If she wanted him-- _ if _ being the word he so feared--then this is what she was getting. Now he just had to wait and see what she thought of him.

He felt like a boy wanting to impress his first girl, but he began to feel other things, more manly things, things he hadn’t known he was holding his breath for, as her hands slid over the hair covering his torso and back up again. She watched them glide up to his shoulders and over his biceps, down his forearms and back again, following the trail they’d left and leaving a path of fired nerve endings that had him biting his tongue inside his mouth.

If she didn’t like what she was seeing, she had an odd way of showing it.

Her head tilted to the side and she dropped a hand to his leg as the other continued its exploration of his body, and she looked up at him, locking her eyes with his as her hand roamed over him, touching him, feeling him, caressing him.

Then she leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his chest just below his collarbone, and Sandor lost all sense of self-consciousness and embarrassment. 

He turned his face into her hair and inhaled the sweet scent of her shampoo, whispering, “Sansa,” into her ear. It was a plea and a command, a request and a demand wrapped into a single word. 

She brought her face up and in answer she reached around and unhooked her bra.

~≈~≈~

Sansa knew what was going to happen tonight, and she had a hard time keeping her emotions in check, not only because they seemed to be constantly hovering just below the surface of her, but because there were so many of them, threatening to overtake her and leave her a crumbled, pregnant mess.

She was incredibly turned on, first and foremost--the sight of Sandor’s chest had cemented that fact and she was about ready to squirm in his lap until he picked her up and carried her to the bedroom. But, seeing as he didn’t seem quite ready to do that yet, she stayed still and explored the expanse of magnificent chest.

He was so  _ hairy _ , and, she admitted with the barest smile on her face as he looked at her, she  _ liked _ it. It excited her, and it made her want to see more of him, to see exactly how much of his body was covered in the pelt of dark hair.

Sansa also felt love, and that didn’t quite surprise her as much as she thought it would. It had been building up slowly, like a barrier in her heart that was just waiting to burst and spill the emotions that had been growing in pressure behind it. 

She knew for certain she felt it as soon as she pulled his shirt off of him, and he had suddenly turned in on himself, the self conscious look on his face telling her what his words likely never would.

He wanted her to like him, wanted her to be attracted to him, and he was afraid she wasn’t. Her aim now was to show him that she was attracted to him-- _ oh heavens, she was _ . 

Her mouth was watering as she leaned down to press a kiss to his chest.

That one kiss seemed to flip a switch inside him and his eyes came to life, just as she reached behind her and unhooked her bra. The way his eyes feasted on her and his mouth worked the inside of his cheek beneath his beard, made her certain that she had gotten her message across.

She didn’t let him sink to her chest, as he was about to do. Instead she drew his face up to hers, and she smiled sweetly at him.

“Not yet,” she said with what she hoped was a seductive smile, and she pushed him back, gently guiding him to rest back on the floor as he drew one arm up to rest his head on his wrist.

Sansa bit her lip at the way it made his bicep bulge, and she reached up to cup her hand over it, not knowing until Sandor, how sexy a muscular man could be. 

She watched his eyes watching her breasts, and as she leaned forward she saw his adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. He was attracted to her breasts, she knew from the times before this that he had showered his affection on them. But she found herself feeling embarrassed at feeling so exposed to him.

So she leaned down and kissed the center of his chest, dropping kisses across his collarbones and down to his pecs before ignoring the squeal of uncertainty in her mind as she softly kissed one of his nipples.

The indrawn hiss of breath through his teeth was confirmation enough for her, and she did it again, bringing her hand up to skim over the other side of his chest. She switched sides with a trail of kisses in between and did the same to his other nipple, gratified when his hands lifted, dropped, and lifted again to rest on her shoulders as she did so.

She pressed her mouth to his sternum then and used both hands to rub him from his stomach to his shoulders and back again, feeling the way his chest hairs tickled her sensitized nipples. As she moved upwards, pressing her lips to his chest, collarbone, and to the hollow at his throat, they dragged over his chest and she moaned softly into his skin.

Sandor’s hands were entities unto themselves, showing her in their hesitant movements that they wanted to touch her but were reluctant to take the initiative. They came up to rest on her shoulders and then her bare back as she licked a pathway up his throat to the edge of his beard, and then leaned over him, her belly pressing into his stomach, as she lowered her mouth to his.

It was then that his hands slid around to cup her breasts, and after giving her a bruising kiss he broke it, turning his head down so she could see he wanted his mouth on her.

Swallowing back a protest of embarrassment, she rose slightly higher so he could take a sensitive nipple into his mouth, and as he sucked deeply she whimpered, bracing her weight on a hand beside his head as the other grasped his shoulder for support.

His attack on her skin was relentless, and when he switched to the other side she felt the familiar warmth between her legs begin to build. 

She  _ wanted _ him, and what he was doing was going to drive her insane.

His beard rasped against her skin but when she looked down at his face he was a man in heaven, and she almost laughed at the pleasure it brought her to see him that way. She’d had no idea a man--he,  _ Sandor _ \--could find so much gratification in her breasts. He kissed and licked at them, first one and then the other as he used his hands to caress and guide. Then he growled against her skin and Sansa was reminded that they had all evening together.

“Sandor,” she breathed, and he broke away from his attentions to look up at her. “Bedroom,” she choked out, overcome by the unadulterated desire she saw in his eyes.

He sat up, suddenly bringing them both upright. Sansa was mesmerized by the play of muscle beneath his skin, and the way his arms bulged when he picked her up and held her against him. Even as he walked her back to the room, turning sideways to fit them both through the door, she ran a hand over his back and pressed the other to his chest, feeling the hardness of him beneath her palms, and the coarse hair that covered his skin.

“Sandor, I--” 

She wanted to say something, to tell him she liked the way he looked, liked how strong he was, the way he cared for her, and how she looked forward to seeing him every day. But her desire had been forced to share its stage with a sudden lump in her throat, love suddenly clogging her airways until she wondered if she’d ever be able to breathe again.

But then he lowered her to the floor at the foot of her bed and bent down to kiss her, breathing new life into her lungs as she wrapped her arms around his neck. He kissed her like a man drowning, like she was the one thing keeping him afloat, and she knew how he felt.

As he held her and moved his mouth over hers, she also knew that she didn’t want clothes on anymore. She trailed a single finger down the center of his chest to the waistband of his pants and he grunted, dragging his mouth away from hers as he pulled her into his body, his breathing ragged beside her ear.

“Sansa,” he growled, his rasping voice rough with desire that made her shiver. “Tell me to stop,” he pleaded. “Tell me you’re not ready.” 

The anguish in his voice grabbed her heart and held on, and she pushed him away, the tortured expression on his face met with her own resolute one. Shaking her head, she gave him the sweetest, loving smile she could muster when all she wanted to do was jump into his arms and hang on for dear life.

Since that wasn’t an option in her current condition, she instead stood a few feet from him so he could have a good view of her entire body, and she hooked her fingers in her leggings. Slowly she peeled them down, bending over to draw them over and off her feet.

He stood in front of her looking like the epitome of masculinity in his low riding sweatpants, hair covered chest on display for her. His shoulders were rounded with muscle, his forearms thick and his hands clenched into fists. The front of his sweats did nothing to hide his arousal.

But it was his eyes that drew her gaze, as dark and intense as they were. She waited before him, dressed in nothing but pink lace panties, and she knew that if he was as attracted to her as she suspected, that he was using a monumental amount of self-restraint right now.

So she put her hands on her hips when all she wanted to do was cover her breasts, and she clenched her fingers into fists. Then she looked him in the eyes and smiled.

“Your turn.”

She saw his nostrils flare as his eyes took in her body--face, breasts, belly, panties, all the way down to her toes and a gruellingly slow ascent back up to her eyes. 

Then his fists unfurled and lifted, and he pulled the sweatpants down far enough that he was able to let them drop and step out of them, never letting his eyes stray from hers.

_ He wants to see my reaction _ , she thought, so she let it be seen.

_ Plaid boxers _ . She couldn’t hide the smile that spread across her lips, and she drew the corner of her lip under her teeth. Somehow she’d pictured him more as a brief man.

It was a minor detail. Sandor’s desire for her was very evident without the sweats. 

She looked up at him and was surprised to find the hint of a smile on his face. His fists clenched again.

“Your turn,” he said, and he did smile then when she faltered. 

_ Ah, so he wants to play  _ that _ game _ .

He was teasing her and Sansa knew it, so she held back any visual reaction, knowing exactly what to do to tease him back. She raised a single eyebrow in his direction, and his smile faltered.

She turned slowly, excruciatingly slowly, so slow that she knew he’d question what she was doing. Then when she had her back to him and she was no longer looking at him, she knew he’d see the backside of her panties and how they rode high on her cheeks, dipping into the crevice between her legs.

She heard the growl a second before she felt him behind her, standing so close she could feel the heat from his body as he stood over her. Leaning back she came into contact with his chest, and she turned her face to the side to look up at him. She brought a hand up, resting it against the scarred side of his face and he pressed his face into it at the same time he slid his hands against her sides. His large hands palmed her breasts, making her gasp. 

“I don’t want you to stop,” she murmured, finally answering his earlier plea, and he closed his eyes and nodded, his scar brushing against her hand. 

But then he turned her and lifted her again into his arms, and lowered both of them down onto her bedspread.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH
> 
>  
> 
> What's gonna happen next? 
> 
> You guys are making me FEEL evil, and I kinda like it...


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for the delay! I had a busy couple of days and lost track of the date. I've been run ragged for the last two days with appointments and parties and sick kids and grocery shopping with all four of them (good lord that was torture). 
> 
> But I'm back with this chapter for you lovely, patient readers <3

Sandor was going to release in his boxers, he just knew it. How could he not, with this gorgeous, nearly naked woman smiling at him, kissing him, touching him, wrapping her legs around him the way she was doing? 

He chose to go with it, and he kissed her deeply, leaning on one elbow and running his other hand down her side to her hip. He felt the lace of her panties-- _ those panties, that nearly made me pass out _ . He moved his hand to between her legs and felt the heat seeping out from her core, and he groaned into their kiss.

Abruptly he sat and used one hand to tug the panties down while using the other to coax her hips up to make it easier. Her auburn curls were revealed to him, and when he looked at her he saw the uncertainty in her eyes. It wasn't because she was hesitant to be doing what they were doing. He knew that now. It was because she wasn't sure-- _ still _ wasn't sure--if he liked what he saw. 

He knew of one way to show her, so he smiled slightly and slid off the bed, drawing her over to him by the backs of her knees. 

“Sandor?” 

She knew what he was going to do, but he could see the doubt in her eyes. 

“Let me do this for you,” he said to her, now propped up on her elbows. Sansa bit her lip, but she nodded, and as he tucked her heels onto his shoulders she laid back against the bed. Her hands came up to cover her face, and it made Sandor smile to himself. She was going to like this, and she was going to know that he loved every single part of her body.

What greeted him was the sight of her folds, moist and waiting for him. He dipped his face into her core and licked, her moan was like music to his ears. He tasted and toyed with her, finding the sensitized nub with his tongue as he held onto her hip with one hand. With his other he pushed a finger inside her, and Sansa’s head turned side to side on the bed.

As he worked his finger he also worked his tongue, and soon she was jerking and groaning, reaching down with one hand to grasp his, and using the other to cover her mouth.

“Sandor, Sandor, Sandor,” she murmured, his name a caress on her lips. He felt her heels pressing into him as her other hand came down to rest against the back of his head--not pulling him, nor pushing him, but keeping a presence that he assumed heightened her awareness of his mouth. 

She was wet and his finger slid in and out of her easily, so he added another and increased the speed of his tongue. Moments later she was crying out, her hand fisting in his hair as her hips bucked and trembled under the onslaught of his mouth and hand.

As she calmed he removed his hand, and he licked and soothed her swollen skin with his tongue and lips. Her legs widened limply and as he rose above her, he had to smile at the sedate look of her, and the way her heavily lidded eyes still spoke of the desire she felt. 

Despite wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand, he could smell her on him, so he wasn’t sure how she would react when he righted her on the bed and laid down beside her, leaning over her to kiss her.

He should have had no fear, however, as it seemed like she was more aroused than ever, and she pulled him into her, kissing him fervently as her leg hooked over his hip.

“Now, Sandor,” she gasped. He reached up to cup a breast, then dipped his head to take its peak into his mouth, rolling his tongue over her nipple as he brought his thigh up to press between her legs. She rolled her hips against him, and he squeezed his eyes shut, knowing this wasn’t going to take long if he rushed into it.

“Please,” she whispered, and he looked up at her.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he rasped, and even to him his voice sounded odd. 

“You won’t, please, Sandor, I need you now.” 

He paused only for a moment, knowing full well that he wasn’t going to see any doubt in her eyes despite looking anyway. Then he stood and slid his boxers off, revealing to her his completely naked form for the first time.

Sansa laid on the bed looking at him, and as her gaze travelled from his thighs, over his jutting erection, past his stomach and chest to his eyes, she licked her lips.

“Fucking hells, little bird.” He groaned as he joined her on the bed, easing himself between her legs. Then he remembered the most important thing, and cringed when he had to say it out loud.

“A condom. I don’t have a condom.”

The same realization dawned on Sansa, a second before she dropped her head back and laughed.

“Laughing may not be the best reaction right now, Sansa.” Here he was, braced over her, ready to enter her, and she was laughing.

“Sandor,” she chuckled, looking at him, “it’s not like I’m going to get pregnant.” She sent a pointed look at her belly between them. “And I’ve been getting regular checkups so I know I’m clean.” 

Then, probably because he knew her recent history but she didn’t know any of his, she bit her lips and looked up at him inquisitively. 

“Are you? Clean, I mean?”

Sandor barked out a low, harsh laugh.

“Little bird, I haven’t been with a woman in… a long time. And the last physical I had, I was clean.”

She smiled at his response.

“Then we don’t need a condom.”

Sandor hadn’t realized until she said the words how much they would turn him on. But he suddenly felt like he had tunnel vision and the only thing he could focus on was that sweet smile on her face as she raised her arms and drew him down over her body.

Sinking into her was like coming home, and Sandor was sure he’d never felt anything so magnificent as when their bodies were finally joined. Sansa arched, the long column of her neck exposed to him as he slowly and surely seated himself inside her fully. He leaned down to kiss her throat and then reared back up, conscious that he didn’t want to press too hard into her stomach.

Then he began to move, and her hands grasped his biceps as her heels came around to hook the back of his thighs.

“Fuck, you feel so good, little bird,” he said, his voice strangled as he tried to keep his pace slow and steady. He watched her face, breathing heavily through his nose as he watched her features for signs of discomfort. Sansa looked like she liked it, though, with her eyes half closed and her lip drawn under her teeth.

“ _ Yes _ ,” she whispered, and she moved her head again, first to one side then the other, opening her eyes so she could look into his as he moved within her.

When a flash of concern darkened her eyes, Sandor felt like a car with a popped clutch. He jerked to a halt, pausing his movements as he became suddenly very aware of every last detail about their coupling that could be making her uncomfortable – her belly resting on her organs, his weight which he was attempting to keep off of her... 

“What is it?” he asked. He already felt out of breath, not from exertion of his movements but from the effort to hold back while inside her. Regardless of how good it felt to be resting in the cradle of her warm hips, to feel her smooth legs wrapped around his hips, he needed to know she liked what he was doing.

“I’m not going to break,” she said, lips spreading wide into a beautiful smile.

_ Fuck _ . It’s not like he’d done this before – made love to a pregnant woman. He knew he was preoccupied with keeping her comfortable while still trying to enjoy the act, but she had to understand he was only thinking of  _ her. _

“I know, it’s just… I don’t want to hurt you,” he ground out. His frustration at the situation was countered by her own look of pleasure, and she smiled shyly up at him.

He wished for nothing more than for her to enjoy herself, so when she reached up to lovingly draw her fingertips down the flushed surface of his scars, he swallowed thickly. It was the reassurance he needed, and he gently bent down to kiss her tenderly, a kiss that she returned heartily.

Then, without breaking the kiss, he arched his back and resumed thrusting, slowly building up speed as he pulled back to watch her face.

“How does that feel,” he asked again, and this time Sansa drew a deep breath and released it with a sultry chuckle.

“Good,” she replied, her voice half whisper, half groan as her eyes drifted closed, and he knew in that moment it felt just as good to her as it did to him. 

As he thrust faster, feeling the heat generated by their lovemaking building, he tilted his hips to go as deeply as he could into her heat, feeling a heady mix of ecstasy and love for her that he knew would shoot his stamina in the foot. Not only had it had been so long since he had done this, but she just felt so damned good, his heart overflowing with emotion for her. Sansa’s whimpers and sighs met his groans, and he felt himself building towards orgasm before he was ready.

He wanted her to climax again, so he reached between them, finding her most sensitive spot with his hand and applying slight pressure, just enough to cause her eyes to fly open. He watched her throat move as she swallowed, her lips part, and heard the small, “Oh,  _ oh, oh!” _ as he moved against her.

Sansa gasped and Sandor watcher her hand grabbing at the bedspread as he stroked her core, finding her swollen clit and rubbing it gently as he thrust into her. Her moans matched his own rhythm and he found he couldn’t tear his eyes away, couldn’t close his eyes and lose himself in her because the draw of watching the effect he had on her was too enticing, too intoxicating. She arched as he drew her close to climax, her head thrown back against the bed and her breasts rocking with his movements. He knew he had never seen anything as beautiful as Sansa in that moment.

When he almost couldn’t bear holding his release back any longer he felt her body clenching and spasming around him. His name came as a ragged cry on her lips as he pumped into her once, twice, spilling his seed deep within her. Her thighs tightened around him, her hands coming to rest on his shoulders, fingertips gripping into his skin as though locking him there against her body. 

The sheen of sweat on her brow glistened in the dim light of the room, a detail Sandor only noted as his own climax ripped through his body. The last of his thrusts were short and without rhythm, his eyes finally closing in an unconscious reaction to the intensity of his release. Feeling her warm body beneath his own, the way her legs held on tightly and her smooth hands moved up to cup his jaw, and feeling himself spill into her body, was as close to bliss as he’d ever come. 

His body pulsed, his hips trembling as he spent himself before leaning down to rest himself against her. Being careful so as to not lower his weight onto her, Sandor paused, attempting to reign in his irregular, harsh breathing.

Sansa drew in a shaky breath, the sigh that followed tinted with pleasure as she languidly wrapped her arms around his neck. With one hand she stroked his hair out of his face while the other traversed the heated planes of his neck.

Sandor wanted to stay there forever, but knew the position they were in was not conducive to either’s comfort, so he slipped out of her, her small whimper of protest bringing a smile to his face.

“ _ Gods _ ,” was all he managed as he laid down beside her, waiting as she turned her body away from him before pulling her into the cradle of his. With an arm around her belly, he brought his thighs up and pushed his face into the hair at the nape of her neck as she softly spoke.

“That was…” 

But she didn’t finish her thought. She just sighed deeply, her fingers gently caressing the back of his hand with featherlight strokes, where it rested beneath her breast.

“Amazing,” he supplied, and Sansa chuckled in his arms. She nodded, and Sandor pressed a kiss to the back of her neck.

“Better than I thought it would be,” she added, and Sandor had to laugh. He skimmed a thumb over her nipple, liking the way her breath hitched at the sensation it must have caused.

“Speak for yourself,” he grumbled, though even he could hear the smile in his voice, so he knew she’d be able to as well. “I always knew it would be amazing.”

Sansa awkwardly turned in the bed until she was facing him, pressed as close to him as her stomach would allow. Their legs entwined, and she slid a hand over his waist to let her fingertips fidget against the skin of his back. Her other hand remained drawn up between them, lightly stroking and touching the hair that covered his chest.

She turned her face up to look at him, and he smiled, barely having to move a couple inches to peck a kiss against her lips. The kiss momentarily turned passionate, and he used a large hand to span the side of her face as his tongue delved deeply into her mouth. She moaned against him, sliding her hand up so the back of it rested against his throat. It wouldn’t be long, if they kept that up, before he would be ready to go again.

But then she pulled away breathless, and asked with a small smile, “You always knew?” 

Sandor swallowed, not knowing what to do with his hand. It swept back over her hair and down her neck, to her shoulder, her back, over her bottom and onto her thigh where it rested on top of his. Then he nodded in answer to her question.

“Always.” 

Sansa smiled wider and tucked her head under his chin, snuggling up to his chest and pressing her face to it. He liked how that felt, and he wrapped his arm around her slim shoulders.

Not long later Sansa excused herself to go clean up, and he watched her as she scooted to the bathroom, naked and smiling shyly as she tried to cover her butt with one hand.

Sandor waited until she was done in the bathroom and went in after her, dragging on his sweatpants when he was done. He opened the door and went to find his shirt, but it wasn’t in the bedroom.

He found Sansa wearing it, and she looked at him from where she stood at the fridge, blushing.

“I hope you don’t mind--I saw it and it looked comfortable.”

The fabric was only slightly tight around her middle, but it fell to mid-thigh on her. Sandor walked up to her and wrapped his arms around her shoulders from behind.

“I don’t mind at all, little bird, as long as you don’t mind me walking around without a shirt. There’s no way I’m walking to my apartment shirtless to find another one.”

Sansa laughed huskily and turned in his arms, letting the fridge door swing shut behind her. Faced now with his hairy chest in her face, he thought she might hug him but instead she leaned into him and pressed a soft kiss to his sternum. Then another slightly higher, and then she stood on her tiptoes to lift her mouth to his, kissing sweetly with those soft lips of hers as though they’d been doing it for years. And it felt just as natural as if they  _ had _ been.

“I don’t mind at all,” she whispered, her eyes intense on his when she slid back down to the floor. 

As she turned and his hands slid down her sides he didn’t feel a bra, and when they slid off her hips as she walked away he didn’t feel any panties, either. 

He almost groaned out loud.  _ Fuck _ , she was going to be the death of him.

~≈~≈~

Sansa fixed some cheese and crackers on a plate and set it in the middle of the table, where Sandor went to sit. Then she poured them both glasses of water and brought those to him as well. But before she sat she stood behind him and gave him a quick hug, just to feel his presence in her home and in her chair, near her body.

She was still having a hard time believing this turn in their relationship had happened. Everything they’d spoken about flashed through her mind, and she would have jumped off the floor and squealed with delight if she wasn’t carrying an extra twenty pounds. 

This man--who had infuriated her, irritated her, and enraged her at times--was saying he cared for her and Bowen, and that he wanted to be a part of their lives. He was saying he could be a father to her baby, a good partner to her, and that he never wanted anything bad to happen to the two of them. It was more than she’d ever expected when she had moved into this apartment.

And then there was what had just happened between them in her bedroom-- _ holy smokes _ . Sansa blushed as she rested her hands on his shoulders, feeling the coarse hair tickle her palms.

Not one but two orgasms. She hadn’t expected that. She wondered what sex was going to be like  _ after _ the baby was here, and she ended up clamping her thighs tighter together at the immediate pressure she felt at the thought.

Sandor reached back to hand her a cracker with a piece of cheese and she put it in her mouth, chewing and swallowing as she stroked the skin of his shoulders and upper back. On his right side she could see clearly now the faint scars that stretched down his neck to the top of his shoulder, where they weren’t as bad as what they appeared on the side of his scalp. She drew her fingers over the surface and around the edges where his smooth skin started, watching goosebumps appear there.

Leaning down, she pressed a kiss to the top of his shoulder and then wrapped her arms around him, much the same as what he had done when she’d been looking in the fridge.

A large hand came up to clamp against her forearms, and they remained still for a moment, before Sansa brushed his hair out of the way and laid a kiss at his pulse point, on the curve of his neck where it met his shoulder.

“Little bird, we won’t be finishing this snack if you keep doing that.”

Sansa did it again, and again, kissing up his neck over the rigid crevices and dips in his skin, aware that he was tense underneath her hands. 

She didn’t know what made her so bold but she thought it might have something to do with her pregnancy hormones, when she whispered into his ear, “Perhaps the snack isn’t what I want inside me right now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally.
> 
> FINALLY.
> 
> Good grief.


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys... I made a boo-boo.
> 
> I forgot to post this chapter.
> 
> Geeeez.
> 
> More fluffy smut, so it's not really much in the Plot Development category, thank goodness. 
> 
> So THIS chapter is 31, and the one you read four days ago (currently marked 31) is actually 32. I'm not sure if AO3 is going to let me fix this unless I delete the currently-posted 31 and repost it, which I don't want to do because that will delete all the lovely comments <3
> 
> So I'm going to go edit 31 and add a note, and I'm going to say I won't ever post a chapter while half-asleep and nursing a baby at God-knows-what-hour in the night, on a dimmed phone with dry eyes and a sleeping husband beside me (but fat chance I'll stick to that, because I've done it so many times before without issue lol)
> 
> Again, my apologies.

Once Sansa pushed aside her self-consciousness, she was able to enjoy Sandor much more than before. He touched her as though she was the first woman he'd ever explored, and she figured from what he'd said that that was at least in part true. She didn't know if he ever had such an intimate relationship with a woman, but he had freely admitted to going a long time--years, possibly--without being with anyone.

When he kissed and caressed her breasts, he did so reverently. When he held her leg and kissed her down to her ankle and back again, it was like she was a masterpiece painting he wanted to experience. And when he put his mouth on her for the second time that night, connecting with her innermost core of sensitive flesh, he did so as though he were a starving man and she was the first morsel of food he'd tasted in months.

There was no room for self-consciousness when he showered her with kisses and touches that brought her to the brink multiple times; no room for doubt when he left her gasping for breath and wanting him as he smiled and moved onto another part of her body.

When he left a trail of wet kisses up the sensitive skin of her side, making her muscles jerk and twitch as the kisses in turn tickled and excited her skin, she moaned, even as his mouth moved on up to her shoulder and neck. Sansa indulged in his warm body against her naked back. She knew he could kiss her forever where her shoulders met her neck and she wouldn't complain.

But suddenly his body was gone, and she whimpered.

"You cad," she whispered huskily, and his throaty chuckle was all she heard from him as he stopped moving behind her. She lifted up on her elbow to look behind her and saw him leaning against the headboard. 

"Why do you keep doing that? Getting me excited only to pull away or move on. It's very frustrating--"

She would have gone on, but his smile widened, and what she saw in his eyes made her gasp.

"You--you're doing it on purpose!" 

His smile--she could die a happy woman for having that smile aimed at her. It was wonderful.

Sansa clambered up onto her knees beside him, one arm slung over her breasts and the other on her hip. 

"It's how I like you," he said softly, his smile faltering only slightly as his words washed over her. "Breathless. Wanting. Aching."

Sansa's breath caught in her throat. He was right. She  _ was _ breathless, wanting, and aching. And so was he, wanting and aching at least, as the evidence was right there in his lap. Sansa put both hands on his thigh and leaned forward, allowing her breasts to be freed from the protective covering of her arms, her face close to his as he continued, his eyes flicking to her breasts and back again.

"You're mine, little bird." His murmured words made her heart do a flip in her chest, and she didn't stop closing the distance between them until his mustache was brushing her lips, until she could see the gray flecks in his silver eyes, and the puckered skin where he once had an eyebrow.

"Yes," she agreed with a nod, bringing her lips to his in a caress. 

At her assent, he groaned and wrapped his arms around her back, hauling her over him so she straddled his thighs and his erection pushed against her belly. Sansa gasped, and braced herself against his shoulders.

"Yes," he agreed with a growl, eyes on her chest again. It aroused her, the way he looked at her body--as though he wanted to  _ feast _ on her.

"You must be a breast man," she said as she rose up, bringing hers to be level with his face. 

"No," he said, his eyes darting up to hes, a look equal parts sardonic and aroused in his eyes as he amended, "Only yours.”

He didn't give her a chance to reply before he took them both in his massive palms--feeling them, weighing them, watching his fingers mould her flesh to the shape of his hands.

Sansa moaned, but said, "They're not going to look like this forever, Sandor." 

His eyes came up to hers before returning to her breasts. 

He nodded as she continued, "After I have the baby they'll be different, and a few months after that they'll be different again."

"They'll always be perfect," he murmured, but he stopped talking and brought his mouth to one of them, needing no more words as he swirled his tongue around her nipple and nipped gently at her sensitive skin.

"And when I'm nursing and you can't have them whenever you want?"

Sandor smiled and spoke around her soft skin, "You do have two." 

She had to laugh, and she wrapped her arms around his head, dropping her mouth to his hair and pressing a kiss to his crown.

She was feeling the pull between her legs, the want for him, and she rocked then, feeling his member slide against her. He paused in his attentions to her breasts, but then resumed when she stopped moving. Sansa let her head fall back, mouth open as she enjoyed what he was doing to her.

But then she rocked again, and this time he growled. She was immensely pleased to be giving him a taste of his own medicine. 

He switched breasts, squeezing with his hands and loving with his mouth until she rocked a third time, when finally he tore his mouth away from her and looked up, his eyes dark with desire.

"Little bird," he warned deeply.

That look in his eyes made her worry at her lip with her teeth. He was so handsome, and she found that she was not only turned on like a hundred watt light bulb; but that she was having  _ fun _ with him. She was  _ happy _ . 

Sansa brought her hands to his beard to softly stroke his cheeks and his chin. She couldn't help but draw her fingertips appreciatively over his forehead and sift her fingers through the hair that fell there. Then she brought them back to cup his face and she rubbed her thumbs over his nose, under his eyes.

"Yes?" she answered him innocently, a smile playing at her lips. 

Sandor stared at her face as though measuring her, and she wondered what he was thinking. But then he wrapped an arm around her back and pulled her forward so that her hands had to go against the headboard or she would have fallen breasts-first into his face. He didn't seem to mind, as he looked up at her with that sexy grin on his face.

She didn’t know what he was doing as he moved until he reached around her, and she felt him at her entrance a moment before he guided her down onto him, his hardness stretching her and filling her as it had earlier in the evening. Sansa felt her breath leave her in a rush as he watched her face, her look of pleasure she was sure was on hers, now mirrored in his own. 

When she was wrapped around him completely he closed his eyes and groaned, letting his head fall back against the headboard. Sansa saw an opportunity and took it.

She leaned forward and pressed her lips to his collarbone, moving towards his other side as she kissed a trail across his the pelt of hair, before moving her lips up the strong column of his throat, over his beard and up to his mouth..

When she knew he would expect a kiss as her lips hovered over his, their breath mingling, she rose onto her knees, feeling the width of him slide mostly out of her as she felt the air leave his lungs. 

"That wasn't fair, little bird," he growled, but his hands landed on her hips, guiding her. 

"Neither was what you did, Sandor." But she smiled at him as she sunk down, taking him all in once again, her mouth falling open and her own eyes closing at the intense sensation.

She rose again and sat back down, his hands helping her rock her hips in a way that was pleasing to them both. With the way he was leaning back, her belly wasn't in the way, and she moved with relative ease with his hands gripping her thighs.

It wasn't long before she was panting above him, her hands resting on his shoulders to brace her body for her movements, and Sandor was showing his teeth, grunting her name before bringing a hand down to touch her most intimate place. Sansa lost her rhythm at that, and Sandor took over, rocking his hips under her until she was crying out his name and falling against him, just as his own release made him grasp her thighs tightly and groan her nickname into her mouth.

Sansa kissed him, pouring out all the emotion she felt and willing him to feel that she was falling for him, falling deeply and fast. It scared her some, though she didn't let it overtake her. But neither did she tell him, as even she felt it was too soon to be revealing such things.

Instead she leaned into his chest, still connected between their bodies, and let his hands wander lazily over the skin of her back and hips as she rested her cheek against his shoulder. His skin was warm and slick, but she didn't care. She had never before felt so complete, so utterly sated.

She moved with his deep breaths, rising on his inhale and sinking into him on his exhale, the feel of his strong heart reverberating inside her own chest. 

If someone had told her eight months ago she would come to care so incredibly deeply for her surly, grumpy, ass of a neighbor, she would have laughed at them. But now, to be wrapped in his arms and held against his broad chest, to feel his breath in her hair and the strength of his body beneath her, there was no other place she wanted to be.

So when a short time later he pointed out that he still had to work in the morning, she didn't bother lifting her head.

"Sleep here?" It was a request, one she was sure he couldn't misinterpret. And though he hesitated for a beat longer than she would have hoped, his answering nod warmed her heart.

"I need a shower, though, and clean clothes."

Sansa chuckled, but she pulled off at him, feeling bereft at the absence of him inside her, and laid down on the bed next to him. He glanced at her, taking in all of her naked body before smiling and leaning over to place a kiss on her lips, the sweetest gesture before he stood from the bed. He was quick to find his sweatpants and the t-shirt she had been wearing, and as he dragged them on he grumbled.

"I hope I don't run into any of those meddling nancies we call neighbors."

She laughed in response, pulling a corner of the bedspread over her for cover.

"And if you did?" She kept her expression as neutral as she could, but she was interested in hearing his thoughts. "What would you say?"

Sandor stood there, hair a little wild, beard even more so, with rumpled clothes and bare feet. She didn't want him to leave, didn't want him to spend any amount of time in his apartment tonight. She wanted him to come back here so she could take his clothes off again, and she knew how to accomplish that quickly. 

But she waited as he thought, and smiled when he smiled.

"I would have a hard time explaining leaving and coming back after having showered."

"What if you leave and just get clean clothes and then you come back?"

Sandor furrowed his brow, confusion obvious on his face.

"I still need to shower, and I'll need to go back in the morning for work clothes."

Sansa nodded.

"True. But you could shower here...? Now, with me." She raised an eyebrow, daring him to deny her that request.

He pursed his lips but she saw the telltale bulge in the front of his sweats, knowing she had just given him an offer he wouldn’t be able to refuse.

“I’ll be back in one minute,” he said as he walked out the bedroom door.

~≈~≈~

It ended up being more like two minutes, but Sandor was closing and locking Sansa’s door (without having seen any of their meddling neighbors) in no more than three.

Soon after that they were both in her small shower, washing each other’s bodies with only a minimal amount of shyness on either of their parts. It was incredibly intimate, standing in a shower with absolutely no hope of making love--although he made note of how it  _ could _ be possible, in the future, when she didn’t have an enormously pregnant belly to get in the way if he wanted to hold her against the wall. 

For now they satisfied each other with exploring their bodies, washcloths skimming over soapy skin, into dips and curves, over hills and mounds, until Sandor was achingly hard and Sansa was breathing heavily. They quickly dried each other off and he carried her from the bathroom to the bedroom, where they made love yet again. 

A long while later, when the sky outside was black and they could still hear the faint piano music drifting in from the speaker in the living room, Sansa lay with her back to Sandor’s chest, and he knew he’d never felt so comfortable in a bed as he did just then, with his arm wrapped around her belly and the soles of her feet rubbing against his shins when she shifted. Her now dry hair tickled his face, but the scent of her berry shampoo was sweet, the same sweet scent now coming from his hair.

Sansa had laughed at that in the shower, as he’d bent so she could rub her feminine shampoo into his hair. Then she’d made the comment that he’d just have to leave a bottle of his own shampoo in her shower, because he’d likely be showering at her place often.

It had made his breath hitch, for her to say something like that, but thankfully his face had been hidden from her by a curtain of black, soapy hair. Things were moving fast between them and though he wasn’t worried about that, it still felt almost too good to be true, as though someone was going to pull the rug out from under him at any moment.

So now as he rested his face against her neck, his head propped up by his arm beneath her pillow, he stroked the soft, tight skin of her belly with his fingers as he worked to form the words in his mind that he wished to talk about.

“About earlier,” he said, his voice quiet, “Is this what you really want?” He didn’t mean to sound doubtful, because that’s not what he was feeling, but it came out that way anyway.

Sansa leaned back and turned her head, just enough that he had to pull back and he could see the serious expression on her face, though her twisted form allowed her only the ceiling in her range of vision.

“What do you mean? Us?”

Sandor nodded, and at the same time he couldn’t help but nuzzle his face back into her hair, breathing in the scent of shampoo and skin and Sansa.

“You mean, all of it? Dating, being with you, asking you to be Bowen’s father?” She paused, her hand resting on his forearm. “Are you asking if I really want all that?”

Again he nodded. He pulled back and slid his arm out from under her hand, resting his forearm up the middle of her chest so he could touch the slender column of her neck where it was turned towards him. He caressed her cheek with the pad of his thumb, memorizing how she looked in his arms, naked in her bed with him.

She smiled then, her eyes moving over the ceiling, darting this way and that since they couldn’t reach him.

“Of course, Sandor,” she murmured. 

Then she did turn in his arms, drawing the blanket up between them to cover her breasts. She laid a hand on his cheek as he draped an arm over her waist.

“You’ve shown me that you care for me, that you care for Bowen, and that even when you don’t really want to, you can’t help but want to take care of me.”

Sandor was sure he was going to blush at that, because as much as he didn’t want to admit it, it was true. Even when she made him mad with her ridiculous decisions early on in her pregnancy, he had needed to plow through the situations and take care of her, deciding she wasn’t able to do it properly herself. Despite later learning that she was indeed capable, and that she was going to be a great mom, he still felt that need to protect her.

And yet, he supposed his doubts were mainly about himself.

“I’m not a kind person, Sansa. I’m not… boyfriend material. Father material. Husband material.”

At that, Sansa scrunched up her face and laughed. Sandor narrowed his eyes at her, but she just bit her lip, her eyes clouding with desire as she casually, softly, swiped a thumb over his mouth.

“You’re in my bed and I am completely sated, so yes, you are boyfriend material. You helped me name my child and you have filled my apartment with every item imaginable that I might need to parent this baby--no,” she said when he tried to object, “--it doesn’t matter if you had help. You orchestrated it, and you made it happen, even if you didn’t do it all by yourself. You’re resourceful and intuitive and thoughtful, all of which are excellent qualities in the father of my baby.” 

The darkness in her eyes faded to watery happiness.

“And if you question whether you are husband material, then at some point you must have wondered if I was wife material, and... I suppose we’ll spend the next who-knows-how-long figuring that out together, won’t we?”

Sandor swallowed audibly, the hopeful look on her face so palpable that he felt as though she had reached into his chest and now held his heart in her two small hands.

So he nodded, again at a loss for words as to how to respond. A single tear escaped his eye and rolled down his cheek, disappearing into his thick beard before Sansa could catch it to wipe it away.

Her smile spread wider across her mouth, and her gaze rested on his mouth.

“Kiss me, Sandor,” she pleaded, and he obliged, leaning forward to capture her mouth in a loving, promising kiss.


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This had originally posted as Chapter 31, and that was a mistake. Now I don't know if you guys will even get the update that the TRUE chapter 31 was posted.
> 
> For crying out loud, what a headache. 
> 
> As ever, thank you so much for keeping up with my circus <3

The following morning saw them engaged in such heartwarming domesticity that Sandor had to blink and pinch himself several times, proving to himself that seemingly overnight his life had actually turned into a dream come true--a dream that he hadn’t even realized he’d had--instead of just a figment of his imagination.

Sansa stood in the kitchen dressed only in that damnable nightgown she’d worn the other day. It showed nearly all her leg, and threatened to tease him with the sight of her gorgeous ass every time she bent over even the slightest amount.

Plus her breasts looked so tantalizing, how they peered over the top edge of the neckline, it was a wonder he was able to restrain himself from making love to her on the kitchen counter.

But then, he did accomplish self restraint by sitting at the dining table, despite torturing himself with turning her making breakfast into some kind of show.

But she was… wonderful. Amazing. Beautiful. She was everything he wasn’t. She was youth and life and light, humming to some country song on the speaker that sat on the corner of her counter, once in a while swaying those hips as she moved to a particularly isolated drum beat.

And the whole time she was in the kitchen she would shoot heated smiles at him--as she poured two cups of her decaf coffee, as she stirred the scrambled eggs in the pan, and when she pulled some cut fruit out of the fridge.

_ Work _ . He had to keep reminding himself that no, he could not spend all day here with her, alternating between talking, cuddling, and making love.

_ Cuddling _ . He had never thought of himself to be a cuddling man, had never really done it with any woman, as they were all usually out for the same thing he was.

But Sansa loved it. She loved cuddling, and touching, and physical contact in general. 

She brought over the two plates of food, putting a hand lightly on his shoulder as she set his in front of him, before returning to the kitchen for the coffees. Then she sat beside him, pushing her legs up against his underneath the table and moving them every so often, as if to remind both of them that this was real, and that it wasn’t a dream. He really was here in her apartment, dressed in his sweats and t-shirt, having just spoken of the direction in which they wanted to take their new relationship.

It had been a surprise to him how easy it was to insert Sansa and Bowen into the future he’d envisioned, and to see the big and small changes those additions would mean.

He was also surprised at his lack of nervousness. It was as though his body had made the decision long ago, that Sansa would be his, and had only to wait for his mind--slow fucker that it was--to catch up and come to the same conclusion.

As he looked at her now, chewing a bite of eggs before she sipped at her coffee and smiled again at him, he knew he’d protect her, love her, cherish her, kill anyone who tried to hurt her, for the rest of his life. 

And when she reached over and put a hand on his arm, pure joy radiating off her face as she showed her teeth in a blinding smile, he mentally thanked any and all gods who might be listening for plopping this little bird and her baby into his lap.

Marriage would come in time, he was sure. She’d been right--he  _ had _ been thinking of her as wife material. Again, he didn’t really know for how long that label had been in his mind. But right now it really didn’t matter. What did matter was that she was his, had  _ said _ she was his, and he was undoubtedly hers.

“Where are you working today?” she asked, pulling her hand away and letting her fingertips drift softly over the hairs on his forearm. She stabbed a chunk of scrambled egg and put the fork in her mouth.

Sandor watched as she closed her lips on it and slid the fork from between them, the pink skin moist from the food she was eating. With one finger she wiped at the corner of her mouth as though she’d felt food there that wasn’t really there, and she drew that same finger into her mouth, pulling it out the same way she’d done with the fork--lips closed, the slide of skin over skin locking his eyes on the sight of it.

When the only movement he saw on her was her jaw working the food in her mouth and her closed lips spreading into a smile, he looked up at her to find her watching him, amusement and--desire?  _ Gods _ \--in her expression. 

“What?”

Sansa smiled at him, and he wondered only for a moment whether the gods had put him with her because they knew he would die soon--because surely she was going to kill him. She was going to put his heart through its paces and on the other side of this wild affair he was going to die happily, sated, and replete.

But she shook her head, amused as she turned back to her plate to pop a grape in her mouth--every  _ fucking _ thing she did looked sexual,  _ damn it _ \--and repeated her question. This time he was able to answer.

“Not far, back at that house from yesterday.”

“Will you come home for lunch?”

_ Home _ . As though they already lived together. Perhaps he would talk to her about that.

“Of course. Are you planning lunch?”

At that she smiled again, leaning towards him with a hand back on his forearm, giving him a good view down the front of her nightgown but obviously coming closer for a purpose.

“I need to feed you,” she whispered huskily as he found himself leaning in to accept the invitation of more physical touch, “to keep your strength up.” Her words were spoken against his lips as he pressed his own to hers. She opened for him and he tasted grape, sweet sugar on her tongue.

His groan was a rush of air out his nose, and she giggled sensually against his mouth.

“Is there any way I can convince you to take a long lunch?” 

He leaned his forehead against hers, which meant he could sit for a moment and just watch the way her chest expanded with her breaths. Unable to help himself, he brought his knuckle over and slid it across the curves of pale skin at the low neckline of her nightgown--over the swell of one breast, down into the dip between, and over the second swell, watching as goosebumps pricked her skin and she shivered visibly.

“I’m not the boss, little bird.” He spoke quietly as her shoulders slumped, and she nodded against his forehead. 

He added, “But I’m sure we could use our time wisely.”

Sandor decided the look she gave him then should have been outlawed. No man should have to prove he had what it took to walk away from those kinds of promises in his woman’s eyes.

~≈~≈~

Sansa watched Sandor bend down to tie his boots.  _ Lords _ , did he have fine hands. She blushed, remembering all the things he showed her those hands of his could do, the heights to which they could bring her. And he had all but promised to show her again, when he came home for his lunch break.

She wondered what she could make him that he could eat while driving back to work, so they could optimize the use of that lunch half hour.

And what she could do to please  _ him _ . She was still blushing at that thought when he unbent his large frame and stared down at her.

She stepped into him and slid her arms around his waist, loving how his came around her automatically. He pressed his mouth to her head and they stood there, just embracing for a moment.

Sandor was gently rubbing her back with one hand when she felt a strong twinge beneath his hand, the same kind she’d felt several times last night. 

“That feels good,” she murmured into his shirt, inhaling the scent of him through the fabric. When he continued rubbing she turned her head to nuzzle his chest with her nose.

“I’ll give you a backrub tonight,” he offered into her hair, and Sansa nodded. 

Emotions tugged at her from all directions, and she spent those few moments in his arms to explore them. There was desire, of course, for this solid man in her arms. Love, she now knew for certain, as she looked up at him and they smiled mutual smiles. But also disappointment, this emotion making her feel like a child whose best friend was being told to go home after a sleepover. She didn’t want to part, finally knowing after so long what it really meant to have a true friend.

“I’m going to miss you,” she said, and to her dismay she felt tears pool on her lower lashes.

Sandor saw this, the corners of his mustache curving upwards as he brushed away a fallen tear with his knuckle. Sansa chuckled, feeling like her hormones were robbing from her all control over her emotions.

He merely shook his head, moving his hand to her temple where he pushed a few hairs off her face and tucked them behind her ear. Sansa watched his warm eyes as they took in her tears, her face, her mouth.

“Me as well, little bird.”

But unable to think of anything else to draw out their parting, Sansa stood on tiptoes to bring her mouth close to his, and he didn’t disappoint her. Softly he pressed his lips to hers, Sansa barely suppressing the moan that threatened to slip past her mouth at the contact. 

“Think of me?” she asked coyly as he stepped over her threshold.

Sandor shot her a sardonic look through the crack in the door, taking in her appearance from head to toe and back again.

“ _ Seven hells _ , how could I not?”

She watched him drive away, still feeling the flush on her skin as she cleared away their breakfast dishes. While working she felt a few more twinges in her back, small cramps that she figured were pretty normal this late in pregnancy. It didn’t concern her much, and as she waited for lunch to roll around she got some things done in the apartment.

A few texts to her family later assured her that when the baby arrived they would come visit her, her mother announcing that she would arrive in two days to attempt to be there for the birth. 

Sansa knew she’d have to introduce all of them to Sandor, and she wasn’t sure how well that would go over. He wasn’t her usual  _ type _ . After dating Joffrey for so long, and knowing that Sandor was as different from Joffrey as black and white, she knew there would be some questions. Her mother probably wasn’t going to like him. Her father would likely be mad that Sandor was so much older than her. 

Not that they were likely setting their expectations high for her--she was a single mom, now.  _ As if I could disappoint them any more _ , she thought.

When the twinges moved from her back to her front, she realized they may be the false contractions every pregnant woman had ever been told about by her obstetrician. They weren’t regular and were only mildly uncomfortable. Sansa managed to finish a couple wall hanging projects before she cooked up meat to make the lunch burritos she’d planned.

Everything was in order when she heard the deep rumble of Sandor’s truck--the toppings spread out in bowls on the counter, the tortillas warm and wrapped in the microwave. The table was set but there was no food on it, and two empty glasses sat beside the fridge.

Sansa didn’t plan on eating while Sandor was here.

Her heart skipped a beat as she watched him climb out of his truck, watched his long legs carry him to the front door of the building. She stood by the door to her apartment waiting for his knock, which came only moments later.

As soon as she opened the door, Sandor stepped through and closed it, then turned to cup her face in his hands and brushed his lips against hers. There was no greeting, no preliminary looks or words or gestures.

It was obvious that he missed her as much as she missed him, in how he barely glanced at her eyes before claiming her lips with his own.

The magnetism between them that she felt, and the love bursting forth within her heart, transcended any superficial attraction she had previously thought about.  _ This _ was the man she was meant for, the man she wanted to spend her days and nights with, to share this baby with, to make  _ more _ babies with. She wanted to watch him age, to grow old with him, to  _ marry him _ . And though they’d spoken about it in passing, she wondered if she’d be able to hold back the proposal of marriage that even now felt as though it was on the tip of her tongue, as though at any moment his mouth might free it and her secret desire would be revealed.

There was no time to think about it now, as he was lowering himself to his knees in front of her.

Sansa stopped him, and instead broke the kiss and grasped his hand in hers, pulling him with her into the bedroom. She wanted to hear his voice, though, so as she backed him up to the edge of the bed and her hands went to the clasp of his white pants, she smiled up at him.

“I missed you, Sandor,” she said, her voice a hoarse whisper as her desire for him and her nervousness of what she was about to do, both attempted to rob her of her voice. 

His hands rested lightly on her shoulders and his face shone with curiosity--and perhaps a tinge of uncertainty--as she released the button and slid down the zipper.

Sansa watched Sandor’s face as she slid her hand into the opening and found him already hard with arousal, sliding her palm over him and moving her arm up and down as he hissed in a breath through his teeth.

“Gods, I missed you too, little bird.”

His voice was such a delicious growl that she closed her eyes and shivered for a moment before sliding his shirt up and laying her palms flat on his belly. The hairs tickled her palms as they travelled up his torso; up and up, until her mouth was just below the bunched up hem of his shirt. She leaned forward to nuzzle his sternum and pressed a soft kiss to the skin.. She moved her mouth left and let her tongue lazily circle a nipple before doing the same to the other side, enjoying the low groan emanating from his throat as she slid her hands lower, feeling the ridges of muscle and the dips just above the waistband of his pants.

Without hesitation, she quickly lifted the shirt off him and feasted her eyes on his torso before bringing her mouth back to his chest, slowly kissing a trail down the center of his stomach. As she dropped lower she hooked his pants and boxers with her thumbs, dragging them down with her.

“Sansa, I--”

She shushed him, glancing up when his pants were at his knees. He was magnificent--all muscle and sinew, dark hair and contours. Sansa wanted to taste him,  _ all _ of him, and she would explore him at some point. But not now. Now, there was only one part of him she wanted to love on, and the look in his eyes told her he knew exactly what part that was.

With a gentle push from Sansa, Sandor sat on the edge of the bed, and another push sent him backwards on his elbows. With both hands on his thighs she slid her gaze from his heavily lidded eyes to his jutting erection.

She had seen it before, obviously, but never this close. 

Slowly, with deliberate care, Sansa wrapped first one hand around it, and then the other.

Sandor’s head fell back for a moment but it was as though he was fighting a battle within himself, for his head came right back up to watch her touch him.

Sansa’s gaze flicked from his cock to his eyes and back again, and she smiled, sensing the power she had over him in that moment.

With the pad of her thumb, she slid over the pearl at the tip, smoothing the fluid over the soft skin as his breathing became ragged. Sansa couldn’t understand why she did what she did then, but she knew she wanted him to know exactly how much he meant to her.

“I love you, Sandor,” she whispered, watching his eyes lock on hers, slightly widened in what could only be shock as she began to move her hands.

He appeared to choke for a moment, then went to sit up but Sansa held him down with a hand to his stomach.

“No, let me do this for you.” The word wasn’t harsh, but they brooked no argument, either. He stilled, and watched her move her hand back, grasping the thick base of him as her other hand remained at the tip, teasing and touching.

Then, without waiting to see if he would say the words back to her--because it didn’t really matter to her in that moment whether he did or not, as her goal had been to open her heart to him without any expectation in return--she rose up and settled between his knees, bending slightly to take the tip of him into her mouth.

  
  



	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the first half of this chapter: my apologies. I kept circling back to sexy times and it took a while to find the exit and the off ramp.
> 
> For the second half of this chapter: Oh, THERE'S the off ramp...

Sandor thought he might have a heart attack.

There, laying back on Sansa’s low bed, naked from the ankles up. 

He still had his boots on  _ for fuck’s sake _ .

His little bird was bent over his thighs, moving her soft mouth over his cock and shooting sensations into his groin that radiated through his body. 

And for the love of the gods, she’d just told him she loved him.  _ Bloody hells _ , he didn’t know in which direction to focus his thoughts.

He attempted to train them on how she was making him feel, with one hand gripping his thigh and the other encircling the base of his cock, rubbing him in the same rhythm she was moving her mouth. But his mind was a jumble of emotions as he simultaneously struggled to process her statement of love, and that determined, devoted look she had given him as she said it.

Could it be true? Was it possible that he had found  _ true fucking love _ at his age? As disfigured as he was, as grouchy and ill-tempered as he was? 

The woman currently loving his body also apparently loved  _ him _ , and he found himself incapable of rational thought under the onslaught of stimulation his mind and body were being subjected to.

Sansa pulled back and swirled the tip of his cock with her tongue before taking more of him into her mouth, and he fought for control over his body, reaching down to where her hand rested on his thigh to wrap his fingers around hers, his other hand clenching a fistful of bedspread. As his head fell back against the bed and his breathing came faster, he squeezed his eyes shut, the feel of her lips and tongue on him driving him insane with desire.

He realized he was probably holding her hand too tightly, so he released his grip and brought his hand back down on top of hers, just resting it there as she continued to move.

Lifting his head off the bed, he glanced down in time to see her do the same, lifting her eyes to him as she came up and off his erection.

Briefly she smiled at him, lifting that hand once and then twice, stroking him from tip to root, before resuming her position and bringing him deeply into her mouth.

And then she  _ hummed _ on him.

“Fuck, Sansa,  _ stop _ ,” he choked out, and she did quickly, rising up in alarm at the tone of his voice. He didn’t want to come in her mouth, but inside her, and he didn’t want to come inside her until he’d made her come. And the fastest way to do that was to turn the tables and return this amazing favor.

He had rid himself of his boots and the remainder of his clothing so quickly that she crouched to the side, watching him as she licked her lips. It wasn’t lost on him that she devoured him with her eyes, so when he bid her to stand so he could strip her, she eagerly complied.

Then as soon as they were both naked he lowered her back to the bed and dove between her legs, using his mouth and tongue and fingers to bring her to the brink several times before backing off just slightly.

It was her moans he wanted, her feminine growls of arousal that he drew forth from her, until she reached down and slid a hand into his hair, demanding that he finish what he started by holding his head to her.

With his other hand wrapped around her raised thigh, he held her as he bore down on the sensitive nub between her legs, relentlessly stroking it with his tongue as his other fingers slid into her slick opening. Her scent was intoxicating, the feel of her body at his mercy like a heady drug that he couldn’t get enough of.

A drug that gave him the ultimate high when her strangled cry erupted from her throat and her insides clamped down on his hand, soaking his fingers with her arousal for mere seconds before he turned her on her side and entered her from behind.

What felt like it was going to be a short, wild, love-filled fucking suddenly changed when he wrapped an arm around her. His hand grasped her breast as she gasped at the intrusion of his hardness within her, and her arm came up to tangle her fingers in his hair, searching for an anchor and finding it, holding fast to it.

_ This woman _ . He was seeing stars and fire and smelling lemons and feeling her squeezing his erection and the softness of her hair against his scarred temple. It was too much, and he didn’t want to be done in ten seconds, as he would have had he continued to thrust into her.

So he slowed, though he didn’t give her any time to wonder at what he was doing. He kept his pace steady, sliding into her body and bringing his hips against her bottom before drawing away. He enjoyed hearing her labored breaths, feeling the reactions in her body and through her fingers where they reached back to grip him. Her nipples pearled against his palm and he teased them with his fingertips, first one and then the other.

He felt the pressure growing inside him so he slid his hand from her breasts, down over her round stomach, and into the thatch of curls between her legs. As he moved behind her, his hand moved in front of her, drawing from her another release that had her trembling in his arms. Whereas his slow pace meant he could have drawn out their lovemaking for several more minutes, the way her body clamped around his triggered his simultaneous release, and he scraped her shoulder with his teeth as he groaned with his last few thrusts.

It was so poignant, this position--feeling the weight of her body wrapped beneath his arms and legs, her back against his chest and her breasts beneath his hand--that what was brought forth from him could not have been stopped, even if he’d had the inclination.

He pressed his mouth closer to her face, squeezing her body to his as he rasped, “I love you,” against the shell of her ear.

~≈~≈~

Something  _ else _ had changed between them, as it seemed to be doing these past few days, while they both quickly stumbled out of bed minutes later, she grinned as she dragged on a robe, while he tried not to smile like an idiot while while he untangled his socks from his pants and boxers.

As he checked the clock on her night stand he saw that he had five minutes before he had to leave to return for work, or he’d be late. Not that he couldn’t be late, but he wasn’t Barristan’s best employee because he took long lunches.

Sandor was trying to find the neck hole of his shirt as he walked out of her bedroom. He saw her in the kitchen and slowly made his way there, finally sliding the shirt onto his arms and grasping the remainder to yank it over his head.

But Sansa was there, dropping a sack lunch on the table as she stayed his hands so she could nuzzle and kiss the center of his chest.

“Woman,” he growled, but his hands went to her arms, not quite pushing them away from his chest. 

“Sandor, I--”

He slid his fingers into her hair and lifted her face for a bruising kiss, drawing her tongue into his mouth so he could suckle and arouse her and leave her as bothered as she was leaving him.

“I love you,” he finished for her, rasping the words against her cheek between kisses and licks, finally leaving her after sucking hard on the juncture of her neck and shoulder, hard enough that he knew he’d leave a mark.

Her whimper was answer enough, though, and he tore himself away to grab the lunch before heading towards the door. She attempted to catch up with him but he was out the door and shutting it before anyone could see her in that damned robe, the image of it slipping off her shoulder just then emblazoned in his mind’s eye, and he knew he’d be seeing that for the rest of the day.

Briefly he rested back against her door, letting his head fall back against the wood while his hand still grasped the doorknob.

His heart was beating fast, faster than he’d felt in a long time since he wasn’t one for cardio. It thumped in his chest wildly, fighting to get back to her.  _ The woman I love _ , came the thought unbidden, and he knew he was powerless to do anything other than turn the doorknob and slip back into the apartment.

Sansa was there, hands on his face and in his hair and dragging him down to her mouth even as he used his butt to shut the door completely.

“I love you,” she gasped between kisses, her soft lips moving over his, “I love you, I love you!” 

It sounded like what it was--like what he felt in his own body, in his own heart--a celebration of this new knowledge. They had known each other for months, had dealt with each other, tolerated each other, while unbeknownst to them both, something deeper and more profound was steadily building just beneath the surface of their acquaintance. It had caught them both by surprise, but Sandor felt like it had turned from a thunderstorm into a steady, rushing river, flowing over him and seeping into every area of his life.

He knew nothing else now, but her. 

He was only five minutes late to work, but Pod was giving him odd looks throughout that afternoon until finally Sandor caught a glimpse of himself in one of the big living room windows he’d just pulled the masking off of.

He was smiling. And not just an upturn of the corner of his mouth, but rather he caught a glimpse of his teeth in that reflection. 

Feeling a bit startled, the smile disappeared as he mulled over the recent course of his life that had brought him to this happy, distracted, somewhat baffled condition. 

He was a man in love, and as weird as that felt - hardly being able to admit it to himself - it was also amazing. So the smile returned, and remained for much of the day, except when he was in Pod's presence.

To Pod he made sure to seem the same frightful coworker he usually was.

But when he was alone and Pod wasn’t around singing or talking or trying to ask him what he’d done while on his lunch break, Sandor smiled as he worked, thoughts of a red headed goddess who was, waiting for him to come home.

His day passed quickly and it seemed like just an hour had passed instead of four, when he pulled into the parking spot in front of Sansa’s large front window.

The light wasn’t on, and he wondered if perhaps she was taking a nap. So despite being excited to see her, he took his tools out of the truck and passed by her door, instead heading to his own apartment so he could shower and change before dinner. Maybe he would take her out tonight--he wondered if she would like that?

He closed his door and dropped his tools and boots at the door before heading into the bathroom. He’d stripped and gotten into the shower and had just finished washing out the shampoo when he heard a sound coming from the other side of the wall, at the same time his phone chimed from where he’d set it on the edge of the kitchen counter.

He shut off the water and listened, wondering if Sansa had music playing and maybe that’s what he heard.

But no, there it was again.

An unmistakable moan coming from her quiet apartment. Sandor almost thought--no, it was a moan of  _ pain _ .

He didn’t even dry off before dragging on the clean boxers and jeans he’d laid out, grabbing his phone as he wrenched his door open.

Sansa didn’t open hers when he knocked, and he found it locked when he tried the door knob. 

Maybe he’d been mistaken. Maybe the sound he’d heard  _ wasn’t _ her. But then, what would have made that sound? If she had been sleeping there would be no sound coming from her apartment. 

He brought up the screen on his phone to check the missed call, only to see he’d missed two text messages from her while in the shower. She had never texted him before.

> Sansa: I think I’m in labor
> 
> Sansa: Answer your phone!!

Sandor’s heart dropped into his stomach, and he immediately banged on her door with the flat of his palm.

“Sansa! Sansa, open your door!!” He swiped her name on his phone, bringing up the call screen so he held it to his ear and he banged again.

She answered after a single ring.

“Sandor, I’m in labor. The baby is coming--uuuuung--” Her sentence dropped off into a moan and for the second time that day, Sandor felt like he was going to have a heart attack.

“Sansa, you have to open the door or I’m going to break it down.” He tried to keep his voice even and calm, but inside he was panicking. He’d do it, too, if she didn’t open it for him. “Little bird, I need you to open the door.” 

He pounded again, once for good measure, and rested his forehead against his hand on the door.

“Sandor,” she gasped, and he could hear her heavy breathing. “Sandor, Davos has a key--”

“DAVOS!!” 

Sandor didn’t care if the entire building heard him. He couldn’t remember the last time he had hollered so loud, but it had the intended effect. Davos’s gray-haired head appeared over the railing at the top of the stairwell.

Then Renly and Loras, and the blonde woman and the brunette--he couldn’t for the life of him remember their fucking names right then.

“Sansa’s having the baby and her door is locked so-get-the-fucking-key!” he sputtered fast, feeling the fear tear at his throat. It wasn’t just fear, though. It was  _ panic _ .

Sansa was in there, all alone. In the dark. If he’d just gone to her apartment when he’d come home instead of straight to his, assuming she’d been asleep, this may have been avoided.

He suddenly felt doubt for every fantasy of fatherhood he’d entertained over the last 36 hours. For fuck’s sake, he’d failed Bowen and Sansa already.

Sam and Gilly were there, and Tormund and Brienne, who were both buttoning various articles of clothing. They all found out soon enough what was going on, as Davos ran back to the railing and threw the keys at Sandor as though it was the opening pitch at a baseball game.

Sandor’s reflexes saved him from the impact as he grabbed the keys from midair in one large fist. He jabbed the key in the lock, twisted, and shoved open the door, yelling Sansa’s name as he rushed into her apartment.

“Gilly!” he added, his mind working enough that he knew she was the one woman likely capable of helping him just then. He barely registered the sounds of her following him, however, as he went straight to Sansa’s bathroom, where he’d heard her moan.

A similar sound emanated from within the dark room and he flicked the switch to bring the lights on. Sansa sat on the edge of the tub, white knuckles grasping the edge of the plastic.

When he turned the light on she looked up, her eyes watery and a smile on her lips.

“Sandor!” She gasped his name as he fell to his knees in front of her, and it was as though that was all she’d been waiting for. With another loud moan her body tensed, and she fell against his bare chest and sobbed.


	34. Chapter 34

Sandor cradled Sansa against his chest, feeling her small body go limp after experiencing that contraction. It startled him because she felt frail,  _ looked _ frail. He knew labor was painful, and he knew childbirth was often joked about in terms of pain levels and how men never went through anything even remotely similar--and women did it by choice!

But what he hadn't expected was the fear lodged in his throat that something was going to happen to her or Bowen. Nor had he expected the strong desire to take the pain away--for his loving embrace be enough to end the pain.

He stood and walked out of the bathroom, crossing the living room to find the small crowd of tenants gathered. Sansa lifted her head to smile weakly at them as she and Sandor passed, but he wasn't up to socializing. He had to get her to the hospital,  _ fast _ .

“Sansa, how far apart are your contractions?” Gilly stood to Sandor's side so that Sansa could see her with her head resting on Sandor's shoulder.

Weak against his chest, she whispered, “I don’t know. Five minutes? They’re getting closer together.”

Sandor’s heart clenched painfully, and old habits seeped back in around the edges of his vision.

“Damn it, little bird, why didn’t you call me earlier?” He then lifted his face to yell at no one in particular, “Open the door! I have to get her to the hospital!”

But the blonde woman--Daenerys, that was her name--walked up with a hand held out to him to stop him.

“Mr. Clegane, we’ve already called the ambulance. They said they would be here in two minutes.”

“And it's not likely the baby will be here before then,” Gilly said, smiling up at him with that toothy smile of hers. She reached out and put a comforting hand on Sansa’s shoulder as Daenerys nodded, eyebrows sky high with concern for what looked like both him and Sansa.

He didn’t have enough space in his mind to be thankful for their efforts. He pulled away from Gilly and paced, as Sansa brought a hand up to rest it against his neck. He stood in the corner by the door, his face pressed to the crown of her head

“Sansa, you should have called,” he despaired quietly, his voice a low, anguished rasp, only for her ears. 

She chuckled softly, whispering back, “I’ve felt pains all day, even before lunch.” Her fingernails scraped at the skin on the side of his neck, and he tightened his arms around her. “I didn't think they would progress this fast. Oh, Sandor--the bag by the door. I need the bag – and – and-the-speaker--” she broke off as another contraction ripped through her, her nails scraping painfully at his skin. 

She arched her neck this time and when Sandor looked at her face, he nearly wept.

“The bag!” he said, not able to completely keep the emotion from his voice, though he kept his back turned. “We need the bag by the door, and the speaker in the kitchen.”

“Four minutes,” Gilly was saying from somewhere close behind him. “That contraction was four minutes apart.”

“Fucking – where is the  _ fucking _ ambulance?” 

But just as he said it, flashing lights appeared over the tops of their parked vehicles. A hand on his arm stayed him and he looked down with wild eyes to see Tormund setting a pair of boots on the floor in front of him.

Without thinking, he slid his feet in, ignoring the long, untied laces. A hand was shoving something into his jeans pocket and he glanced to see Brienne stepping away from him.

“T-shirt,” she simply said, and he gave her a brief nod before striding out the door that Sam was now holding open.

~≈~≈~

“I need an OB waiting when we get there, Ms. Stark is ready to go,” the medic was saying into the radio at his shoulder.  

He'd just hooked Sansa up to fluids as another contraction hit. She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling Sandor's hand on her forehead, brushing hair away from her face. It was a moment before she could put a voice to her thoughts, when the pain finally subsided.

_ “What?” _ she cried, wide eyed. The medic looked at her, and Sandor's hand stilled. “What do you mean,  _ ready to go _ ? I haven't had an epidural yet!”

She watched his eyes dart up to Sandor's face, as though he'd find some sort of answer there. She looked up too, and saw Sandor staring back dumbfounded, at the medic. She turned back to the young man, feeling anger on her face. 

“Answer me, what about my epidural?”

“Ma’am, I'm just a paramedic, I am not diagnosing anything, I am just trying to take extra precautions--”

“What about my epidural??”

Again the man looked at Sandor, who finally spoke.

“Her birth plan says epidural.” 

His words were quiet and although to the medic they likely sounded purely menacing, Sansa detected the faint panic in his undertone, which increased her own panic. 

“Sir, there is a window of opportunity when it comes to epidurals, and all I'm saying is that, with contractions every three minutes, she may have missed that window.”

Sansa gave a strangled cry and reached for Sandor, needing comfort at the medic’s words.

“But that’s up to the attending doctor, ma’am,” the medic was saying. Mallister, his nametag read. “Now, let’s just get you to the hospital safely, shall we?” And he turned to read the monitor she was now hooked up with electrodes.

“Sandor--” Sansa was scared, but he was there, sitting beside her as the ambulance sped towards the hospital in the center of town. 

Sitting taller than her stretcher, her big man, hovered over her protectively, keeping his face close to hers while he held one of her hands and stroked her hair with his other.

“I’m here, little bird. We’ll get through this.” 

_ We _ . She felt fresh tears spring to her eyes as she tried not to think about the possibility of not having an epidural. She’d planned it all along, but today the labor pains had caught up with her too fast and by the time she realized it probably wasn’t false labor, it had been too late. Even if Sandor had answered his phone when she’d called, it would have been too late.

The quick build of pressure in her stomach happened faster than it did before and Sansa couldn’t help but cry out in pain, just missing Mr. Mallister check his watch as Sandor lowered his forehead to hers.

“You’ve got this, Sansa. I’m here,” Sandor was saying, his voice a velvety rasp against her cheek right before he pressed his lips there, drawing away with them now wet with her tears. 

“Oh gods, Sandor, it hurts so bad!” 

She released her grip on the edge of the pad she was laying on, bringing it to her belly but not quite landing it anywhere in particular. She felt around her stomach, wondering how Bowen was doing inside her and whether this was putting any strain on him

“That one wasn’t quite two minutes since the last,” Mallister was saying as he jotted down a note with a pen from his pocket. “We’re almost there, just a minute out. You’ll be having your next contraction as we take you out of the ambulance.”

He said this as though it would bring her comfort, which it most certainly did not. But she recognized the concern in his face, and wished she had the mental faculty to thank him for it.

But he was true to his word, and moments later they pulled into the ambulance bay of the hospital, the rear doors being thrown open by a waiting nurse.

A familiar head of dark red hair appeared in Sansa’s vision and she cried out, both as another contraction swept through her body and when she realized the doctor attending her would not be her regular OB, but this stand-in.

“Dr. Mel,” Sansa gasped as the pain ebbed. 

“Hello Sansa, it’s nice to see you again.” 

But her voice was flat, the smile on her face looking more of a mask than a genuine display of cordiality. The only redeeming thing about having her there was that she was a somewhat familiar face.

Sandor slipped his hand from hers for a moment as he exited the ambulance, stepping away only long enough to drag a t-shirt over his head and to allow the medics to pull the stretcher out of the back.

“Sir.” 

Mallister was there, holding out a phone to Sandor as he resumed his place by Sansa’s side. 

It was Sandor’s phone, and it seemed he had almost forgotten it on the ambulance seat beside him when he had exited. 

Sansa grasped on the fact that he even had one, saying his name to get his attention.

“I need to get a message to my mom. Sandor, could you dial two one five – uuuughh – fivefivefive –” She didn’t finish as another contraction made her see stars.

“Let’s go, people!” Dr. Mel spoke over every noise in the bay, giving Sansa a cursory glance over as the stretcher began to move. 

“Thank you, um--”

“Denys Mallister. Take care of her, sir.” Sansa blinked to see Sandor nod at the young man, deciding that if she made it out of this with her brain intact, she would send him a Thank You card.

“Zero-seven-eight-three,” she finished, and she watched from her prone position as Sandor tapped the numbers into his phone. Then he held it to his ear with one hand and wrapped the fingers of his other hand around hers as the group walked through the long hallways of the hospital to a large elevator.

Another contraction was hitting her by the time he began to speak into his phone, so she wasn’t able to give him any warning, any direction, for what to say when someone answered.

“Hello, ma’am… My name is Sandor Clegane, Sansa lives in the apartment next to me. She’s.... No, she’s okay… I’m, uh – I’m her boyfriend.”  _ Crap _ . “Yes ma’am, boyfriend… Yes, she’s in labor… Tomorrow? I’ll tell her… Yes, I understand, ma’am… No, ma’am… Y-yes, ma’am.” 

He shot her a glance as the contraction subsided, and then he was gone from her sight as she was wheeled through a door of a delivery room.

“Room two-oh-three, ma’am… Yes, ma’am. I’ll be with her the whole time… No, I promise I won’t leave her.”

Sandor came back into her line of vision as a nurse was instructing her to lift her hips so they could remove her panties. Quickly she was wrapped with a fetal monitor while Dr. Mel was giving her the examination that determined Bowen wanted out  _ now _ , and Sansa acknowledged that Dr. Mel was going to break the sac manually as another contraction rippled through her abdomen.

“Sandor--” Sansa choked out his name, barely registering that he was saying goodbye on the phone. He tucked it into his pocket as he resumed his place by her side, helping the nurse slip off the sundress she was wearing and replacing it with a hospital gown.

“Sansa, I need you to push when I tell you to push, but at no other time, do you understand?” 

It was apparent why Dr. Mel was giving her such specific instructions.

“But I feel like I have to push  _ now _ ,” she nearly cried, feeling the urge to push so strongly that she thought her body might take over and do it anyway.

“I know, sweetie, but we need to wait for a contraction. Any moment now,” Dr. Mel said, smiling up at Sansa from between her raised legs in what was finally a genuine looking smile. Sansa had enough time to think that perhaps it just meant bringing babies into the world was when Dr. Mel could finally be happy and more like herself, when another contraction began and she followed Dr. Mel’s orders as Sandor stroked her forehead.

“Push, Sansa, big big push!” 

“You can do this, little bird.”

“Oh my gods, it-hurts-so-much!”

“Okay Sansa,” Dr. Mel patted her knee. “One more and the head will be out.”

Sansa saw Sandor look over the edge of the hospital gown, and his adam’s apple bobbed beneath the hair on his neck as he swallowed.

“Sandor?” 

Sansa’s voice was thin, fearful even to her own ears, and he immediately came back up to her face.

“It’s okay, little bird, we’ve got you. Dr. Mel and I won’t let anything happen to you, okay?” He stroked her forehead, but his eyes were worried for her, and it made Sansa cry harder, tears full of love for him mixing with tears of fear for her current situation.

As another contraction hit and Dr. Mel was encouraging her to push again, Sansa felt the most gods-awful pain she’d ever endured, and she cried out until it receded a bit when the contraction left.

“ _ Gods _ ,” Sandor whispered, glancing over the edge of the gown again.

“Sandor, I don’t think I’ll ever want to do this again,” she moaned honestly, but when he brought his face back around to her he had the biggest smile she’d ever seen splitting his face in two.

“Little bird, I see him. His head is out. You’re doing so great, Sansa.” 

Then he kissed her forehead, her cheeks, her nose, and she whimpered into his face, trying to maintain the contact as he moved over her skin. But when he pulled back, his expression had sobered.

“I don’t care if you never want to do this again, little bird, I have you and that’s all I ever wanted. And Bowen, of course--you two have made me the happiest man on earth--”

“Sandor, shut uuuuup--” 

“Push hard, Sansa!” Dr. Mel was there between her legs as the contraction slammed through her and Sansa pushed harder than before. She felt like that final push was the most effort she had put into anything she’d ever done in her entire life, and it produced the most pain she’d ever felt, until suddenly she felt a  _ whoosh _ between her legs and in an instant the pain was whisked away. At the same time, a baby’s squall was heard in the delivery room.

“Sansa, little bird, you did it, you did it,” Sandor was grinning ear to ear, and through her tears, Sansa’s matched his as she nodded weakly.


	35. Chapter 35

Sandor stepped back, feeling his heart bursting with love for his little bird, at the same time he felt a new love growing for the tiny bundle of flesh she was now being handed, wrapped haphazardly in a sterile hospital blanket as the nurse used a corner to wipe at his little face and body.

Sansa looked so tired and proud and exhausted. Her desire to hold the infant was warring with the after effects of the ordeal she’d just gone through, so he stayed off to the side to give her this moment with Bowen.

The nurse used a device to suck out whatever it was in Bowen’s nose and mouth, but then let him rest on his mom’s chest for a moment as she wrapped his little wrist with a band that matched Sansa’s.

Then she walked over to Sandor and held out one for him.

“Oh, I’m, uh…”

“Sandor, take your wristband,” Sansa was saying, and he looked over to see her smiling at him. 

The nurse wrapped it around, smirking up at him as she cut off the tiny bit of leftover band compared to the big strap she’d cut off Sansa’s. 

“Congratulations, Daddy,” she said, and she turned to do whatever it was nurses did. Sansa was still looking at him as he turned to her, feeling for the first time awe settling in his heart as he looked at the bundle in her arms.

“Come here, Sandor,” Sansa said quietly, and suddenly none of it felt real.

Was she really holding Bowen?

Did she really just give birth while he held her hand and soothed her with kisses?

Was he really in a relationship with the most courageous, kind, loving, beautiful woman he’d ever met?

No, it couldn’t be…

But sure enough, she was laying there on the hospital bed, Dr. Mel still doing something between her legs, while she looked at him with love radiating from her face.

“Come meet him, Sandor.” 

Her voice--that voice that drove him wild with desire, that made his heart clench with love, was including him in the most incredible moment of her life.

He hardly felt his legs bring him to her side, but she watched him the whole way, until he bent over both of them to see the tiny round face of the life she’d carried for nine months.

“How do you feel?”

He kept his voice very low, worried that it would somehow upset Bowen. Looking up at her, he let his hand drift over her hair, rubbing his thumb over her cheek where dried trails had been left by her tears.

“I’m… okay,” she said, though she winced. Sandor glared at Dr. Mel, who smirked up at him.

“She’s not bleeding, but she did tear. I have to put in a stitch, okay, Sansa? Which means we need to deliver this placenta, and then I’ll numb you up.”

The process was simple--massage Sansa’s belly until she pushed out a horrifying sac of veins and blood, and then maintaining the massage to ensure the bleeding stopped. After a while, the needle to numb her was unwelcome, and fresh tears sprung to her eyes during the process. But it was over quickly, and Bowen’s examination by the nurses was done efficiently while Dr. Mel worked on Sansa.

As soon as the baby was returned to her, she shook her head, turning to Sandor and smiling up at him through tired eyes. 

“I think his daddy would like to hold him,” she whispered, more to him than to the nurse who now held Bowen out to him. 

Sandor looked from Sansa to Bowen to the nurse, and then back to Sansa. He wasn’t ready. Was he? No. Yes. Maybe.

But at Sansa’s gentle smile his arms were rising, and suddenly he cradled the small, warm bundle in his massive arms, holding on so carefully that his entire body was tense with worry and anxiety, fear that he would somehow hurt the tiny baby boy.

It didn’t happen though, and the infant just laid there, doing nothing. No sounds, no squirming, though his eyes moved behind gooey eyelids--ointment, the nurse told him when he asked, to prevent infection.

Sandor was transfixed by the life he now held, slowly coming to terms with the fact that he’d watched Sansa grow this tiny human in her body, from before anyone even knew she was pregnant, to what seemed like moments ago, when her stomach pushed out from her body. It seemed so unreal, that so much had happened in these last eight months, and when Sansa’s hand came up to rest on the scarred side of his face as he looked down at the miracle he held, he was surprised to feel tears well up on his lower eyelids.

Shocked out of his trance by the wetness, he looked up at her just as two fat tears slid down his cheeks.

It was hard not to be embarrassed, but there was nothing to be done about it. Sansa wiped away one trail with her thumb as her own tears spilled over.

“No, little bird,” he whispered hoarsely at her tears, shaking his head. They both chuckled quietly at their shared amazement and love.

“Sandor, I’m so happy.” Her head fell back against the raised hospital bed and she gazed at him, a content smile spreading her lips wide. “Are you?”

Her question caught him off guard, and he even narrowed his brow at the absurdity of the question. Then he secured the bundle of blanket in his arm so that he could bring one hand up to wipe away the rest of the wetness on his face. Then he lifted the same hand to cup her delicate cheek, feeling warmth spread through his chest as she closed her eyes and leaned into his touch. When she turned to press her lips to the center of his palm, Sandor had to swallow past the lump in his throat and wish away the tears that threatened to return.

“I have  _ never _ … been happier,” was his reply as she opened her eyes to gaze at him, emphasizing  _ never _ because it was the absolute truth. Even in early childhood, before he’d been burned, he had never experienced this rush of euphoria at any point. 

To underline his sentiment, he cradled Bowen to his chest as he bent over the bed, sliding the infant back into his mother’s arms before drawing her face up by her chin and kissing her sweetly, softly, but briefly, as there were still others in the room.

What followed was a crash course--for both him and Sansa--in breastfeeding. Sandor was surprised to see Bowen take to it immediately, as dismayed as he was that even now Sandor had to fight back a wave of desire as Sansa held Bowen to her breast. He chided himself silently, though he would have laughed any other time, knowing full well that the sight of Sansa’s breasts would likely turn him on until the end of time. He was, after all, a red blooded male who was intimately acquainted with them himself.

His ardor was soon tamped down by Sansa’s pain, as she grimaced when Bowen managed to get a good latch. The nurse assured her that the pain would eventually go away, and that it was often bad for new mothers who had never nursed before.

Sandor ached to take away the pain, knowing there was nothing he could do. But through it all, Sansa plowed ahead, telling him that if she could breastfeed--if it was possible for her body to accommodate this need--she would do whatever it took to be successful at it.

Then, on impulse but then knowing that Sansa might also appreciate it, he took out his phone and brought up his camera.

“Ready, little bird?”

Her answering grin told him all he needed to know. And as he leaned down to get in the picture with her, she bent to the side and pressed her lips to his burnt temple, making a memory of their tiny family as he smiled tersely at the camera. When he brought it up for them to review, all that could be seen of either Bowen or her breast was a tiny, auburn-haired head giving her modesty.

~≈~≈~

Sansa woke later that night for the feeding, accepting Bowen as the nurse handed him to her from the bassinet that sat beside her bed. As he latched on and she flinched at the initial pain, she took her mind off it by looking over at Sandor, where he laid on the pulled out chair in the corner of the room.

What would have been a cot-sized bed for a normal human, ended up comfortably fitting him only from his head to his knees. He was forced to sleep on his back with his feet on the floor.

Her big man, her boyfriend. Sansa wondered when this awe would wear off, the awe that squeezed at her heart and made her feel awash in love for him whenever she thought of the last few days. They’d come so far--over just the last few months, really, but who was counting?

No, the last few days had been so full of revelation that she was overwhelmed by it, deciding instead to pick up Sandor’s phone and start sending out texts to people who needed updating.

She first texted Gilly, who was happy to hear everything had gone well and that Sansa’s phone and bag were actually waiting for her at the nurse’s station. She also informed Sansa that it was likely everyone from the apartment building would be over to visit the following day, assuming Sansa felt up to it. Of course she did, Sansa replied. She was looking forward to introducing them all to the new tenant.

Next was Arya, who immediately started questioning her on who this  _ Sandor Clegane _ was, instead of asking about her new nephew. Sansa was not forthcoming with details, as her family would be meeting him soon enough

Finally she texted Jaime, who promised to tell Tyrion of the good news. He did not ask about whether he should tell Joffrey, nor did Sansa offer up an opinion on the matter. Jaime and Tyrion knew Joffrey had no interest in being a father--nor did Cersei have an interest in this grandchild of hers, as evidenced by her willingness to watch her son sign away his parental rights to her only grandchild. So Sansa figured it would be assumed that an announcement to the other Lannisters and Baratheons would not be necessary.

Jaime promised to come see her in a couple days, and that he hoped to bring news of the new tenant soon. She wished him a goodnight, and he replied with congratulations. 

When it was time to switch Bowen to her other breast, she managed to do so quietly, not wanting to wake Sandor from his deep sleep. The man was like the dead when he slept, that was for sure, though he didn’t snore very loud. She’d spent plenty of nights lying awake listening to him through the wall--she should know.

It was during this second-side feeding that Bowen erupted with such an awful, smelly, loud sound that Sandor jerked awake in the chair.

Sansa couldn’t hold back the giggle as she switched between watching Bowen’s tiny face screw up around her nipple, and Sandor’s body slowly come to terms with where he was and what he was doing there.

“Hey,” he groused, sitting up and wiping the sleep from his eyes. 

He looked up at her, smiled sleepily, and raised his hands above his head in a stretch as he yawned. It revealed a line of skin below the hem of his shirt and Sansa smiled to herself, remembering fondly what that skin felt like, with its fine layer of hair and strong muscles. Even now, her fingers fairly itched to touch it.

But the strong smell emanating from their son’s little diaper brought her back to the present, and she reached over to press the nurse’s call button on the bed’s control panel beside her.

As she waited for the nurse, Sandor walked over and she was pleased to find that his first instinct upon waking was to lean over her and press a warm kiss to her mouth, a kiss that slowly developed into lips moving, tongues caressing, in a soft mimicry of lovemaking that evoked a low moan out of Sansa.

Then, presumably because he was tired and had completely let his guard down after a kiss like that, Sandor bent to press a soft kiss--his  _ first _ kiss--to the downy softness of Bowen’s hair.

And then he promptly stood tall beside the bed, rubbing at his nose and looking at Sansa incredulously.

“ _ What _ ?” she hissed in an amused laugh. “It’s not  _ me _ !” 

Sansa was allowed to stand when the nurse came in, and they both finally got their first lesson in changing a diaper. The nurse insisted on Sandor being the first one to change the rotten, foul-smelling black mess, explaining to him that it should most certainly  _ not _ solely be the woman’s job. And when he had finished wiping around the little boy parts, putting on the diaper correctly, and returning the small legs to the pajamas the infant wore-- _ fucking snaps _ , he’d grumbled as he struggled to get them to connect in his big, meaty hands--the nurse had declared Dad a success.

With a self-satisfied smirk directed in Sansa’s direction, he hefted the tiny body to his shoulder to show the nurse that he had also been paying attention to what to do after feedings, gently patting Bowen’s back as he slept on Sandor’s shoulder.

“So,” Sansa said after the nurse had changed her pad and bedding, and had left with the door only slightly ajar. “How do you feel?”

Sandor glanced at her from the chair he’d dragged over to the side of the bed, knowing his expression probably showed how absurd her question was.

“How do  _ I _ feel? Little bird, I’m fine. I’m better than fine. How do  _ you _ feel?”

She smiled, playing with the end of her red braid where it hung in front of her hospital gown.

“Other than sore? And happy?” 

Sandor nodded, despite knowing she wasn’t done talking. She paused there and he wondered if she was really thinking of what she was going to say, or if she was pausing for dramatic effect.

He settled on the former when she spoke next.

“I’m in love,” she said simply, and she squeezed her arm through the railing to let her hand rest against his thigh. She inhaled deeply, smiling softly at him as he cradled Bowen to his shoulder, and then exhaled while her hand rubbed small circles into the jeans fabric covering his knee.

“I’m in love with him,” she clarified, glancing at the sleeping infant to illustrate her point. “I love my life, my income and where it comes from, our apartment building, our neighbors, the drastic turn my life has taken over the last few hours, days--months, even.”

She paused, and it must have been for dramatic effect because she smiled widely then, her hand sneaking up just a couple inches closer to his groin.

“But most of all, I’m in love with you, Sandor. The gods have been smiling down on me, to put you into my life.”

She swallowed, and he thought she might cry. But her eyes merely became moist, and she chuckled self deprecatingly as she unabashedly allowed her eyes to roam over him--from his hair and scars, his eyes, nose, and lingering on his mouth, to his neck and shoulders, his chest, the area where tiny Bowen slept fitfully, one of his large hands splayed over the tiny infant’s back. Then downward, over his stomach, to his groin, to settle on the spot on his leg where her fingertips were tracing patterns into the fabric.

When she brought her gaze back up to his, her eyes were still moist but they were shining bright, her smile lighting up her entire face.

“What are we going to do about that?” she whispered, making Sandor’s heart radiate shockwaves outward with its strong beat, because he knew the answer immediately.

He stood, missing her hand when it slid from his thigh as he carefully lowered Bowen to the flat mat in the bassinet, before returning to Sansa’s side. He bent close, his face inches from hers as he trailed a knuckle from her temple to her chin. When he spoke, he saw excitement in those brilliant blue depths.

“We’re going to have to tell Jaime he’ll need to find two tenants now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Awww, sweet domesticity. 
> 
> And yes, they did just about everything backwards 🤦♀️🤷♀️ Maybe I was really tired when I wrote this lol


	36. Chapter 36

It was settled. Sandor was moving in, and Sansa was excited. She had only ever lived with her family, or Joffrey. Her family had been chaos, with so many individuals occupying one home. And Joffrey had been chaos unto himself, with the entire home being occupied by his enormous ego. Moving out of that mansion had been more of a relief than when she’d left her family home.

So when it came time for Sandor to run home and shower and check on the apartments, at the same time he’d be moving his spartan belongings over to her apartment, along with his much larger bed.

Sansa went through the motions that day, feeding Bowen and cuddling with him while she was awake during the day at the hospital. The nurse helped her get ready for a shower, and she used the toiletries that Margaery and Daenerys had packed in a separate bag from her apartment. It was nice using products that reminded her of home, and that didn’t smell like sterile hospital chemicals.

When Sandor came back in early afternoon, she felt more like herself, though nervous now that the time was fast approaching when they would be taking Bowen home.

They had just finished lunch and were laying on her bed, Sansa curled up to Sandor’s side as he wrapped his strong arm around her. She liked sitting like that, with her head nestled against his shoulder, her own arm twisting and fidgeting with the fabric at his side. She still wore the hospital gown but now it was open in the front, more like a robe.

“You’re already a great mom,” Sandor was saying, his breath moving the hairs on top of her head. Sansa smiled, appreciative of his reassuring tone.

“Thank you, but it will be different when Bowen’s home. It will be… hard. I don’t know. I just lack confidence, I suppose.”

Sandor nodded, though at the same time she wondered if he was struggling with the same thing. 

“How do  _ you _ feel about it?” Sansa turned her face up to watch his as he gazed out the window across the room. “What do you think it’s going to be like, living together and having a baby in our midst?”

Sandor did turn to her then, raising his one eyebrow down at her as he smiled gently.

“Are you worried about that as well? Living together in the same apartment?”

Sansa shrugged lightly, though she knew it wasn’t a huge issue in her mind. “It’s just… new,” she said softly, but she looked at him with a smile. “I mean, I’m going to like it, I’m sure. But… what if you don’t like living with me?”

His arm squeezed around her and he brushed a kiss on her forehead, lingering there, his beard tickling her eyebrows.

“Little bird, you can’t possibly know how I feel about it. You’re--” He paused, and she knew he was thinking about how to get his thoughts out. It took him a moment before he spoke again, reaching for her hand and holding it in hers before he did so.

“I’ve spent so long thinking this was an unattainable dream.” 

His thumb slid over the back of her hand, so big, and tanned compared to her own skin. She pulled her hand out and stroked the dark hairs on the back of his hand as he continued speaking.

“I will spend the rest of my life making you and Bowen happy. So no, I’m not worried about living with you. Are you?”

With his body pressed to hers, and the promise of many years ahead of them to enjoy each other and love each other, she knew that wasn’t going to be a chore. And Sandor had already shown himself to be a helpmate in the truest sense of the word, not only with his offers of assistance in the hospital with Bowen and anything else she needed to do-- _ ”No thank you, Sandor, I can shower by myself” _ \--but with everything he’d already done at home. The baby items, the speaker that played music from the corner of the hospital room even now, and with how his presence was turning into such a huge comfort during this, the biggest upheaval of her life thus far; he was proving to be indispensable. 

“I think,” she said softly, “that the Gods gave me you for a reason, and that I will also spend the rest of my life making you happy.”

That arm tightened again, and when she tilted her face up to his he leaned down to press a kiss to her lips, sliding her hand up and into his hair as he deepened the embrace.

“You already do, little bird,” he rasped softly against her mouth.

~≈~≈~

Visitors came and went for a couple hours, Sandor leaving only long enough to meet whoever had come at the bottom floor of the hospital to lead them back to her room. First it was Renly and Loras, who teased Sandor mercilessly about him surviving his first birth experience--not that they had or ever would do it themselves, they assured Sansa. They were too wrapped up in each other at the moment to think about starting a family.

Next came all three ladies from upstairs, along with Tormund who had apparently driven them all.

“If not for my goddess, I’d have gone mad on the drive over,” he whispered loudly to Sandor, the two men standing off in a corner of the room as Daenerys and Margaery tittered over Sansa and took turns holding Bowen.

“They chatter like birds, a constant chirping in my ear. If I didn’t have Brienne’s hand on my thigh the whole damned drive over I’d have reached into the back seat, probably smacking them like children.”

Sandor’s brow furrowed at that comment--parents did that?

The two smaller women took turns holding Bowen, neither of them paying much attention to the men as they cooed over the infant. Sandor watched them like a hawk from the corner, suddenly nervous like he hadn’t been before, that someone was going to drop him and there’d be hell to pay.

But as Margaery handed off the baby to Brienne, he watched the big woman adjust the infant in her arms and settle into the position as though she’d been made for the role of mother. 

And her eyes shot over to Tormund’s and held, causing Sandor to step out of the way so he didn’t feel like he was so close to that weighted line of vision, wherein Tormund and Brienne visually came to a tangible realization that at some point, this would be them--the new infant, the bond a baby would create between them. Sandor glanced at Tormund and almost laughed out loud at the dumbfounded expression on the ginger’s face.

_ Never fancied yourself to be a father? _ Sandor could relate. It had caught him by surprise as well.

It seemed Tormund’s feet moved of their own volition as he met Brienne halfway between the window and the bed, and together they had a moment with Bowen where Brienne cradled him to her chest and Tormund stroked the infant’s soft forehead with a single giant finger.

A glance at Sansa told Sandor that she’d seen the same thing, and they shared a knowing smile before she went back to talking with the other two ladies.

Brienne had handed the baby to Tormund, who walked back over to Sandor with such a look of wonder on his face that Sandor had to cough to cover up a laugh. But he knew exactly how the ginger was feeling, so he didn’t bother to hide the small smile that he felt spread across his face as Tormund looked at him.

“Oh man,” Tormund said, shaking his head either at Sandor’s smile or at the bundle he held in his arms, Sandor wasn’t sure. But it didn’t matter. They both looked down at the sleeping infant and remained quiet for a moment, the silence only being broken by Tormund’s eventual, “You’re so fucking lucky, mate.”

Sandor breathed in deeply and let it out on a sigh, nodded as he did so.

“I know,” he said simply, watching Bowen’s eyelids flicker slightly as he dreamed in Tormund’s arms.

“Think Brienne might give me one someday?”

Sandor looked up to see that Tormund was being completely serious.

“You want kids?”

“Well, I  _ didn’t _ , “ Tormund said, bushy red eyebrows high, as though it should have been completely obvious, “until a minute ago.”

Sandor nodded, understanding completely. 

“Didn’t you?” 

Without looking up, Tormund asked the question and Sandor didn’t know immediately how to answer it, how to put his thoughts into words. But he thought back to meeting Sansa, and then finding out that she was pregnant after she’d thrown up immediately after meeting him. That led to memories of her actually telling him that she was pregnant and that first trip to the emergency room with her.

_ Gods _ , he decided it likely had happened that very night. He remembered how critical of her he’d been, and how he judged her for every small decision, every disregard for her own health that she’d displayed early on.

And he realized he’d been confronted by an unborn child that he almost immediately had developed feelings for, likely before he’d developed feelings for his mother. 

It shocked him, coming to this realization now, standing beside the bearded ginger as they both looked down at the child who was now Sandor’s son.

“I didn’t,” he admitted softly, his voice hoarse with emotion he couldn’t completely hide. “Not until him,” he gestured to Bowen, and then nodded his head in Sansa’s direction, “and her.”

“Aye,” Tormund agreed sagely, nodding at the same time. “Not until her.” 

Sandor saw him glance at Brienne, and suddenly the thoughtful glint in his eyes darkened and he was handing the baby back to Sandor, offering a muttered but sincere  _ congratulations _ as he strode over to the tall blonde woman, grabbing her hand and fairly dragging her out of the room.

Daenerys saw the exchange and her eyebrows raised, alarm decorating her features as she grasped Margaery’s hand and pulled her towards the door.

“Wait! You’re our ride!” 

They tossed similar congratulations towards Sandor and Sansa before rushing out after the couple who were, apparently, going to go home and make a baby.

The next visitors to show up were Davos, who added the new car seat and blanket to the pile of supplies the ladies had brought in, and Sam and Gilly who towed in Lily and Alden to meet the new addition to their extended tenant family.

While they visited, Davos and Sam offering Sandor heartfelt handshakes and congratulations – did everyone know he was taking on the role of father? – Bowen slept peacefully, until a nurse came in and announced the infant had gone long enough without a feeding and would need to be woken.

The visitors were ushered out by Sandor, with promises of visits once Sansa and Bowen were allowed to go home.

Bowen was checked over, woken up by being stripped nearly naked to check his tiny body’s temperature. Sandor was appalled even after the nurse explained that with infants, often the most accurate temperature was taken in his little bottom. He hoped he’d never have to be in the position to take it himself. 

Then as soon as he was redressed, the nurse handed him to Sandor and left them so Sansa could feed the baby in peace.

Sandor handed Bowen to Sansa and pulled up a chair at Sansa’s invitation, feeling blessed that she would share this aspect of motherhood with her. And though she had already fed the infant several times in front of him, he couldn’t help but smile at the blush that stole across her face and chest as she opened the front of her robe.

“What’s this now? Shy?” he asked, but Sansa bit her lip and shook her head, the blush darkening as she unsnapped the flap on the nursing bra. She glanced at Sandor’s face and he suddenly recognized the emotion in her eyes--desire.

His smile disappeared.

“ _ Gods _ , Sansa, don’t do that.” 

It was too late. She was obviously bothered by his close proximity, but she uncovered her breast anyway, and Sandor couldn’t help but watch her handle her breast as she brought Bowen’s face to it.

He looked away as the baby latched on, but the damage had been done. Sandor shook his head, bringing his face back to Sansa’s as she bit her lips to keep the grin off her face.

“Little bird, that wasn’t fair. The nurse said--”

“Oh, I know what the nurse said, Sandor,” she interrupted, leaning over to meet him halfway with a warm, loving kiss. 

By the way her mouth moved against his, her tongue darting out to meet his as he deepened the kiss, he needn’t fear that her attraction to him had diminished in any way due to the new addition to their family.

She backed off enough that he released her mouth, but she stayed within his reach, so he pressed kisses to her cheek, and when she tilted her head to the side, down the column of her throat, feeling his beard drag across her skin.

“But…” the word was breathless, her chest rising and falling with deep, bothered breaths. “But there are other things we can do for six weeks.”

Sandor groaned against her neck, nipping at the sensitive skin behind her ear with his teeth.


	37. Chapter 37

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Moving along! We're almost done 💕

Sansa had finally fallen asleep after the afternoon’s excitement. Sandor was standing at the window looking out, watching the people several floors below him enter and exit the hospital through the main entrance. They looked small, and engrossed in their own problems, their own successes, their own lives. All he wanted to do was open the window and shout to the world how happy he was.

He was still standing there when there was a soft knock at the door, and a woman poked her head in. She was older, perhaps in her late forties, and looked so much like Sansa that he knew immediately who she was.

She had seen him, and he watched as her eyes widened and took in all of him, down to his boots and up to the rumpled t-shirt he wore, to the scars on the side of his face.

“Who are you?” she whispered, eyeing Sansa asleep on the bed, as she walked herself further into the room. She kept an eye on Sandor, and to not alarm her he remained where he was.

“I’m Sandor,” he answered, watching as she drew herself up tall and pursed her lips. She was measuring him, examining him, and he found himself bristling at her perusal. Whether this woman liked him or not, he was going to be with Sansa. He didn’t budge.

She didn’t introduce herself, but he knew she was Catelyn Stark, matriarch of the Stark family and Sansa’s mother. She walked over to peer down at Sansa’s sleeping face, noting at the same time Sandor did the faint smile that lifted the younger woman’s lips.

Catelyn’s eyes lifted to him first, and then she stepped away from the bed, walking only a few feet closer to him.

“You were with her during the labor?”

Sandor nodded, “Yes.”

“The whole thing?”

_ Fucking hells _ , did she think he’d leave Sansa halfway through? He answered through clenched teeth.

“Yes.”

She stared at him, moving from one eye to the next, and letting her gaze skim over his scars, his hair, his head. Before long he felt like squirming, though he stood stock still, knowing he wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of making him uncomfortable.

“Tell me, Sandor, why would a man your age do such a thing for a young girl?”

~≈~≈~

Sansa woke to a nurse tapping her on the shoulder, a gentle voice prompting her for feeding time. It was only when the nurse walked out that she saw Catelyn sitting by the window, Sandor nowhere in sight.

“Mom,” she whispered in greeting, tears pooling in her eyes. Silently Catelyn stood and quickly walked to the bed, drawing Sansa into her arms.

“Sweetheart, I am so very proud of you.” 

The words were fiercely whispered into her hair, and Sansa let the tears spill over the edges of her eyelashes, feeling a deep comfort that her mother had finally arrived. It wasn’t until that moment that she realized how much she had needed to see the woman who for most of her life had been a source of strength.

“May I get Bowen for you?” Catelyn leaned back, running a hand over Sansa’s hair as she went. 

After sniffing and wiping her nose, Sansa nodded, though she wiped her eyes and wondered aloud why Catelyn had asked.

“I needed to wait for your permission.” 

Catelyn spoke with her back turned, leaning over the edge of the bassinet to scoop up the sleeping bundle. 

As she turned she said, “You will never love anyone as much as you love your children, so I would never presume to hold him before I received your permission.”

It was touching, really, but Sansa never would have kept her son away from his grandmother. The love she felt for Bowen was a concrete place in her heart, as perpetual as her love for her mother, and her love for Sandor. But as her mother handed Bowen to her and she woke him by stripping him and changing his clothes, she felt more content than she had in a long time.

Although she wondered where Sandor was, she didn’t ask Catelyn. There was no telling if the two had met, though she hoped that was the case and that Sandor had merely stepped out of the room. Her curiosity was satisfied after she’d helped Bowen latch onto her breast and had settled back into the bed to nurse him.

“So that man…” Her mother had pulled up a chair and sat at the side of the bed, hands neatly folded in her lap.

“His name is Sandor.” Sansa couldn’t keep the smile out of her voice when she said his name. She didn’t look up at Catelyn, though, content as she was to watch Bowen at her breast, thoughts of Sandor now flowing through her mind like water.

“Yes, he told me.”

Sansa glanced up then, noting the flat line of her mother’s mouth. It always meant she wasn’t quite pleased with the current development, but to what extent her displeasure reached always varied. Sansa briefly wondered if she needed to tread carefully--there was no telling what sort of impression Catelyn had gotten, nor what her opinions of Sandor were.

“You spoke with him?”

“Oh, yes. He’s been here this whole time?” 

Catelyn’s voice was even, hardly inquisitive but rather critical as she motioned to the fold out chair that had rumpled blankets on it. Even to Sansa’s eyes it appeared to have been recently slept in.

“Yes, mom. He’s a good man.”

“I hope so, Sansa, for your sake and for Bowen’s.” 

Catelyn eyed Sansa, one eyebrow rising slightly, as if her words would impart some great knowledge she wanted Sansa to heed.

“Why do you say that?”

“Because he says he is in love with you.”

The skepticism fairly dripped from the words.

“He told you that??”

To say Sansa was shocked would have been an understatement. Sandor wasn’t one to spout off about his emotions, so to find out he had divulged that information to Catelyn--after only having recently told Sansa--shocked her. She imagined the conversation between them and wished she could have been a fly on the wall to see Catelyn’s face when Sandor had spoken those words.

But what could it mean? Why would he have said such a thing to her mother, after having just met her? The most obvious conclusion was that Catelyn had somehow forced it out of him. She was a kind woman, a loving mother, but when it came down to her indomitable will versus the stubborn male spirit, Catelyn Tully Stark was a force to be reckoned with.

As it turned out, Sansa didn’t need to question her mother about what had been said between her and Sandor, as the other woman volunteered the information freely.

“Well, only after I cornered him about his association with you.”

Sansa scoffed, causing little Bowen to startle and break his latch. She shushed him and guided him back on, wincing at the sharp pain that quickly subsided as he resumed nursing.

“You mean you scolded him until he told you,” she said, looking her mother in the eye once again. 

Finally, Catelyn’s voice was tinged with resignation. “You’re not denying it.” 

Her mom did not look happy, and Sansa wondered if this was going to turn into another one of those times where her mother’s emotions were kept in check only because of outside circumstances--in this case, the infant Sansa held and their presence in a public hospital. 

It seemed like that time Arya had spoken back to Catelyn in the hallway of their high school when Sansa had run into the two of them discussing Arya’s suspension for smoking. The anger in her mother’s eyes was the only indication that she planned on grounding Arya to her room with the exception of meals and chores, for a month. All of that had only come out  _ after _ they’d gotten home.

“Am I to understand that you return his feelings?” 

Arms folded across her chest now, Catelyn kept her voice low, and Sansa found herself saying a silent prayer that this would not turn into a worst case scenario where her mother outright refused to acknowledge her relationship with Sandor.

Because really, if it came down to that… Sansa hated to think about how long it would be until she saw her mother again.

“Mom, don’t do that,” she said quietly, though emotions were whirling around in her mind. 

“Don’t do what? Look out for my baby?”

“That’s just it. I’m not a baby anymore. I’m capable of making my own decisions.” Sansa glanced down at Bowen and smiled, a genuine smile that she kept on her face as she looked up with nothing but love in her eyes for her mom. “I’m happy, Mom, and Sandor is a large part of that. Bowen is healthy, I’ve got a great apartment--things are going really well for me. And I wish…” She swallowed, willing away hopeful tears that threatened to spill again. “I wish you would just be happy for me.”

As she watched, Catelyn’s face began to soften. Her resolute defiance melted into a slumping of shoulders accompanied by abject acceptance.

“But Sansa, he’s so… big… and old.”

Sansa rolled her eyes.  _ And scarred, you want to say _ . But she couldn’t help it--in her mind she was picturing the great big grump of a man who had somehow stolen her heart, and she felt it flutter, knowing all that they were going to share with each other in the years to come--parenthood, love,  _ bedroom activities _ .

Pushing those thoughts from her mind, especially those last thoughts, she shook her head.

“He’s not even forty, Mom.”

Catelyn’s eyes widened and her hands twisted together in her lap. For a moment her mouth opened and closed, then opened and closed, like a fish out of water.

“Good heavens, I was hoping he was no more than 35.”

Catelyn’s discomfit only made Sansa chuckle now, her mother’s feelings about Sandor falling by the wayside in Sansa’s mind as she nodded, her gaze wandering off towards the window. Outside the sun was high in the sky, and she felt nothing but excited expectation over what the future held.

Not to mention that what she reassured her mother of next--”Mom, he’s a good man. He loves me, is kind to me, he works hard, and he has a good heart. We have known each other for eight months and what we’ve built is strong and sure and good. I want you to be happy for me,” she said again, looking back to her mother. “I want you to give him a chance.”

Catelyn crossed her arms over her chest as Sansa watched, her face once more a sequence of emotions as she looked at her daughter. The last--resignation tinged now with unconditional love for her daughter--was only faintly tainted by suspicion when Sandor knocked and then entered the room moments later.

“Mrs. Stark,” he said in greeting, nodding at Sansa’s mother before approaching the opposite side of the hospital bed. “Little bird,” he murmured to her, bending to press a kiss to her forehead. Sansa smiled at him as he brought up a large hand to drag a knuckle across Bowen’s temple where he still nursed.

The entire exchange was watched by Catelyn, and when Sansa finally caught her eye there was a tinge of something else in her eyes.

Approval.

~≈~≈~

Sandor had spent an hour boxing up some things from his apartment to bring over to Sansa’s, as well as enlisting Tormund’s help in switching the beds. Sansa’s much smaller one would be donated, while his king sized bed would be moved into Sansa’s bedroom.

There were many leers and grins to be ignored from Tormund, but the big ginger never actually said anything inappropriate about his relationship with Sansa.

On the contrary, his opinions were all in support of the arrangement, and he spoke openly about his and Brienne’s conversations regarding their plans to eventually have children. Tormund wanted to have enormous children with the tall blonde, and was visibly excited about the idea. Though at the same time he maintained his stance on respecting a woman, and vowed to not do anything that Brienne wasn’t comfortable with.

Sandor felt oddly proud, that Sansa and her baby-- _ their _ baby--had so greatly altered Tormund’s life path. Perhaps the ginger and the blonde woman would have had children eventually, but that look they’d shared in the hospital room moments before Tormund had dragged her away to presumably procreate, had affirmed Sandor’s decision to completely alter his own life path and to welcome Sansa and Bowen as his own family.

He felt assured in his choices as he carted over a couple boxes of his things, some food from the fridge, and bedding for the bed they would now share. 

He felt complete as he pulled back into the hospital parking lot, knowing he was going to return to his woman, his child, his new world.

And he was even polite to Sansa’s mother, despite her suspicious disappearance from his view as soon as he’d bent to greet Sansa and Bowen, so full of love and adoration was his heart in that moment.

But then there was a commotion in the hallway outside the door to Sansa’s room and as Sandor watched, Catelyn’s eyes widened briefly before she stood and rushed to the door. Apparently it was too late to stem the tide of individuals who now filed into the room, and suddenly Sandor’s breathing space got a whole lot smaller.

The crowd was a mismatched group of people, some of whom shared Sansa’s eyes, or her nose, or even hair color. But it was an older gentleman who’s eyes caught and held Sandor’s when Sandor felt the need to put a hand on Sansa’s shoulder and to harden his expression.

Sansa’s father, Ned. 


	38. Chapter 38

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This 😆
> 
> This is one of my favorite chapters!

Sandor stood on the far side of Sansa’s hospital bed while she tossed the corner of the sheet over Bowen. Realizing that the crowd of people now in the room were going to get a good look at Sansa’s breast – and feeling fiercely possessive over it, and protective over his little family – Sandor took the corner and helped her tuck it back over her shoulder so she was completely covered. Then he returned his hand to her shoulder, holding the sheet in place.

The entire time, Ned Stark watched Sandor like a hawk, taking in Sandor’s attentiveness to Sansa and looking pointedly now at the position of Sandor’s hand on Sansa’s shoulder.

While this staredown was happening, Sansa was in the meantime greeting her family, names that were vaguely familiar to Sandor from what Sansa had told him about them. He watched Catelyn move to stand by Ned’s side, to whisper something in his ear while he kept his gaze locked on Sandor’s, and ending with a slight nod as he rose from listening to his wife.

“Sandor, this is my family!” 

Sansa was obviously happy to have them here, having put a hand on his for a moment and briefly squeezing it before pointing at each individual member.

The tallest boy also turned out to be the oldest, though not nearly as tall as Sandor. Robb, his name was, and his guarded greeting matched Ned’s gaze in its wariness, with his eyes only darting to Sandor’s scars. The rest of the family was more openly friendly with him--Robb’s girlfriend Jeyne who greeted Sandor with a wide smile while notably squeezing Robb’s hand and shooting him a raised eyebrow that clearly said  _ Be Nice _ .

Next was Jon, a cousin raised with the family who seemed like he wished to be anywhere but in that room. Sandor felt that he might be able to like that one, with his morose expression and reluctant demeanor, had the kid not visibly paled at Sandor’s scars.

Theon turned out to be adopted, and Sandor could see a cockiness in that boy that he didn’t really appreciate--Theon openly gawked at Sandor’s scars, his curiosity blatantly written across his face. But Sandor nodded and said his hello, filing away all first impressions to dwell on later.

Bran was in the wheelchair Sansa had told Sandor about, and was the first to hold out his hand and warmly greet Sandor. Rickon seemed to follow suit, although only because the sulking teenager was paying just enough attention to mimic the person introduced before him. At least to these two the scars were of little importance.

When it came time to introduce Arya and her boyfriend Gendry, it was telling that Ned also approached, and the two men flanked the smaller Stark girl who basically looked nothing like Sansa. 

Sandor felt Sansa’s hand land on his again, where they rested against her shoulder, her small fingers gripping his palm in a fashion he wasn’t able to explain--warning? Sympathy? A combination of the two? She had once explained to him that Arya was a force unto herself, and he wondered if perhaps she was attempting to prepare him for what was to come.

Arya did indeed open her mouth to speak, but Ned chimed in before she could get out a word, obviously cutting her off and showing a fatherly compulsion to cushion the moment that was to come. He sent a slight smile in Sansa’s direction before aiming his gaze at Sandor.

“I’m Ned, Sansa’s father, and this is Arya and her boyfriend Gendry. It’s good to meet you, Sandor.” 

His words were genuine, if not slightly colored by concern and confusion for meeting the person who was apparently in a relationship with his daughter that he had previously known nothing about. But before he could say anything more, Arya broke away from Gendry’s hold and stepped forward.

“Maiden, mother, crone--you are e- _ nor _ -mous!” 

Her mouth was hanging open as she looked from Sandor to Sansa and back again, shaking her head as though she couldn't believe what she was seeing. In the back of the small group, Sandor heard Theon laugh, before being cuffed in the shoulder by Robb.

“Arya,” Ned began sternly, attempting to curb the wave of words apparently about to spew forth from his youngest daughter’s mouth. But she was not to be curbed, and she continued as Bran rested an elbow on his arm rest and put his face in his hand.

“Sansa! Where did you find this guy? A Big And Tall store? No, wait--Kingsize? Gods, your hands look like dinner plates! Mom, his inseam must be forty inches. What size shoe do you wear? Fifteen? Sixteen? Gendry, what do you wear, 10 and a half?” 

She leaned onto the foot of the bed as though she’d be able to get a glimpse of his boots before Gendry grabbed a fistful of her jacket and forcefully pulled her back. Jeyne looked absolutely mortified that her boyfriend’s sister was acting that way. Catelyn was equally affected, her fingertips resting on her lips as she watched her husband attempt to intervene.

“Arya, you’re being rude.” 

Ned looked between Sandor and Arya once before focusing his gaze on her, turning to look at his daughter so his back was to Sandor. But all she did was ignore the elder Stark, leaning this way and that while attempting to look around her father’s broad shoulders.

“It's not rude, he’s amazing! Like the Warrior made flesh! Gods, I bet he’d be a dead ringer for him dressed as a knight with a broadsword. Have you ever done that?” She jumped to look over Ned’s shoulder before falling again, though Sandor knew the question was aimed at him. “Have you ever held a sword before? Sansa, you  _ have _ to get him a sword for Sevenmas--”

Ned nodded at Gendry, who shot Sandor an apologetic look as Rickon perked up, realizing what was happening was more interesting than the wallpaper.

“--And armor! Don’t forget armor! And those  _ scars! _ Ouch-- _ hey! _ \--oh my gods, and a helmet! We’d have to find a horse. Hey, does anyone know--why are you  _ pushing me?? _ \--Does anyone know where we can borrow a horse?”

The last Sandor saw of Arya as they passed a silent Jon by the door, was her face suddenly being palmed by Gendry’s wide hand to finally turn her away from the interior of the room and out into the hall. 

“What was  _ that _ for, I’m just asking him questions!”

Ned shut the door behind them and walked back into the room, shaking his head before he looked up at Sandor.

“That--” he motioned towards the now closed door, “--was Arya. I apologize for her; somehow we failed as parents in instilling a filter.”

“Or couth,” supplied Robb.

“Or self-restraint,” added Theon gleefully. He was evidently the only one not embarrassed by Arya’s show, though that was likely because he was also the only sibling who didn’t share blood with her.

The whole time this had been going on, Sansa kept a hold on his hand, and she rubbed the backs of his knuckles now, before releasing him to fiddle with Bowen beneath the sheet. She glanced up at him and the room fell away briefly as Sandor leaned down to listen to her speak.

“I need to switch sides,” she said into his ear, and he nodded, eyeing the group in the room before merely lifting the sheet to create a wall behind which she could discreetly adjust the baby--all the while being watched curiously by the remainder of her family. He stared back, eyeing each individual in turn, wondering if he was always going to be a sideshow to them and almost-- _ almost _ \--caring about it. 

But he also kept his eyes off Sansa, not wanting to look like a lecher in front of her family despite how difficult it was to keep his eyes averted. There would be opportunity enough, he reasoned with himself internally, to watch Bowen nurse and enjoy the sight of everything that entailed--Sansa’s face, her body, her breasts, and Bowen, doing exactly what the Gods intended for him to do. 

Sansa was soon settled again so he draped the sheet over her opposite shoulder, helping to tuck it behind her back so that he didn’t have to hold it in place any longer. 

When they both resumed eye contact with her family, it was to find again that all of them were looking at Sansa and Sandor as though they’d never seen a loving relationship before. 

~≈~≈~

After farewells were said, Sansa was finally left alone with Sandor and Bowen, breathing a sigh as she felt like she could finally relax.

“I love you,” she said abruptly, leaning back against the raised bed, a sleepy smile on her face. Sandor turned from looking down at Bowen, asleep in the bassinet. His smile was surprised, but genuine.

When he strode over, Sansa moved over gingerly, giving him room on the bed to sit beside her. She laughed when he startled as she began lowering the back, but she only did it enough so that he could recline and she could lean into him. His arm around her shoulder was the most comforting thing she’d felt all day.

Without being able to turn towards him, she rested her hand on his thigh, tracing circles against the blue jean fabric covering it. 

“I love you, too,” he said softly, pressing a kiss to her hair. It was so unlike him, and yet she adored it, inhaling deeply and letting out a very content, very relaxed sigh.

“Are you ready for my family?” 

She wondered what he was going to do, getting to know the Stark clan and having to get used to such a large group when he had obviously spent so much time alone.

Sandor grunted, making Sansa laugh. No, he wasn’t ready.

“I’ll do it for you,” he murmured, wrapping his other arm over her waist and resting it against her softly. “Am I hurting you?”

His concern touched her, but she shook her head. 

“No, amazingly I’m starting to feel a lot better. But--” she slid her arms beneath his so it wasn’t resting on her stomach anymore, “--I won’t look like what I used to.” In fact, she was pretty sure her stomach was going to be quite squishy from now on.

“What’s this now,” he said, lifting his arm up when she created the barrier. 

She told him what was on her mind, and he grunted again, showing her what he thought of her concerns. 

“Little bird, I thought you were the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen when you were carrying thirty extra pounds of baby weight and had a stomach bigger than mine. I promise you,” he kissed her hair again, “that I  _ still _ think you’re the sexiest woman I’ve ever seen.” 

And with those words he pushed between her arms and her belly, laying his hand flat against her middle. The warmth of his palm felt good next to her skin, and she sighed again, thinking she would have to get used to that. Not that having a man who desired her was a bad thing, but still--her life had changed an incredible amount over the last nine months. 

It didn’t matter how perfect it seemed, because it was still going to take some getting used to.

~≈~≈~

Heading back to Sansa’s apartment-- _ their _ apartment, Sandor reminded himself silently--was surreal but a welcome change from the sterile environment of the hospital. 

Bowen’s crib was set up next to the large, familiar bed; a bed that now sported two pillows and was flanked on either side by feminine nightstands and pretty lamps. But it called to him, as did the promise of sleep, since he’d done nothing but sleep in an uncomfortable chair for days.

But first came settling in, and the first thing he did was watch Sansa develop into the role of mother as naturally as though she were born to it.

She watched Sandor as he moved about the apartment, even as he watched her. The glances between them were weighted, the promise of pleasures exchanged between them just hovering below the surface. But Sandor knew he would be keeping his ardor in check, knowing it would take her weeks to recover. 

But he couldn’t stop the excitement he felt within himself at the thought of sleeping next to Sansa tonight, and the next night, and the next. It was such an odd thing to look forward to, something he had never expected to happen to him, and he allowed love to cloud his vision as he watched her tend to Bowen and put the infant to her breast.

After making a quick dinner they settled in for the evening, Sansa tucked into the crook of his arm while alternating between holding Bowen, nursing him, and setting him down on a blanket so they could both watch him sleep as the TV played in the background. So when she began to yawn repeatedly they agreed it was time for bed, and they moved their small family to the bedroom.

Sansa moved slowly, and it took her awhile in the bathroom to prepare for bed, insisting she didn’t need help from Sandor. He was already in bed when she exited the bathroom and turned off the light, wearing a light cotton nightgown that looked as though it had seen better days.

Once she was settled back against his chest, both of them looking across the short distance to the crib where Bowen slept, Sansa spoke quietly into the darkened room.

“I can’t believe this is happening.”

Her tone was hushed, but Sandor could hear the awe in it that matched his own. He nodded against her hair, smelling the sweet shampoo he had grown accustomed to long ago.

“Aye,” was his reply, as there was nothing more to add it it. He held a palm to her stomach, feeling how it was still a bit bigger than it was when he’d first met her, but knowing it was due to the nine months she had spent growing the little human who lay in the crib beside them. Beneath his hand, Sandor felt nothing but admiration for the body he had wrapped himself around--the body that he even now wanted to honor and respect for the effort that had gone into the previous months.

Affection flowed through his hand into her skin, and he hoped she could feel it, even knowing she was still self conscious over the way she looked.

Suddenly Sansa moved, gingerly turning over until she faced him in the bed, and her hand came to rest against his scarred temple.

“I love you.” The emotion that clogged her throat was apparent, but then Sandor had to smile as she continued, “And I love Bowen. How did I ever get so lucky?”

Sandor had no reply, astonished at the emotion he felt and the strength of it as he felt his heart constrict inside his chest. So instead he brought his mouth down to hers, kissing her sweetly, gently, in the darkness of the room. It was short but full of promise, and when they broke apart she tucked herself beneath his chin, pressing her face to his chest. He could feel her breath intertwining with the hairs there, the warmth spreading over the surface beneath which lay his heart.

She was soon asleep, though it became apparent to both of them before long that Bowen was not one to sleep for long stretches. That first night, and for many that followed, Sandor would rise and turn on a low light so he could retrieve Bowen and place him gently into Sansa’s waiting arms. Those nighttime nursings were both intimate and incredibly arousing, though Sandor kept his thoughts to himself.

But as a week went by, and then two, it became harder and harder to ignore the cravings for Sansa he felt, even as love for both her and Bowen crowded his heart and made it difficult for him to concentrate on anything but his new family.

Then one day, Sansa cornered him in the kitchen when he was getting ready for work, and the look in her eyes had him dropping his sack lunch onto the counter and gripping the edge of the surface, white-knuckled.


	39. Chapter 39

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And for your viewing pleasure, Baby Doodle <3

“This isn’t working for me, Sandor.”

He was dressed in his painter’s whites, covered in so many different colors of paint that Sansa could have spent all day exploring the different hues. Smudges covered his stomach and thighs where he would wipe his hands on the job, while splatters and stripes adorned just about every other surface from his shoulders to his ankles--months of colors for the numerous jobs he did for Selmy.

But all Sansa could think about was his skin color, and how the darkness of his face lightened slightly when he removed his shirt. She liked his light farmer tan and how just above his elbows the darkness of his arms faded to a lighter color on his biceps and shoulders. He was slightly lighter still below the waist, and it was there her eyes wandered.

“What?”

She heard him swallow, lifting her gaze back to his to see he was following the trail her eyes made.

“Bowen’s asleep,” she began, walking into his space across the small kitchen floor, “and he just ate so he will be for some time.” She cupped his forearms where they braced him against the counter, sensing more than seeing the rise and fall of his chest as he struggled to keep his breathing even.

“Sansa, I don’t think--”

“Yes, you do, Sandor. You do in the shower when you think I’m not paying attention.” 

She slid her hands up, smirking as he audibly swallowed again, feeling the crisp hairs on his arms against her palm. Today had indeed been a good day to wear a low cut top. 

“You do when we’re watching a movie and I’m leaning on you, wrapped in your arms.” 

Sliding up and over the sleeves of his t-shirt, she kept her mind focused on what she wanted for both of them--release. It was possible without intercourse, and it was time they began exploring what could be between them.

“Even when I’m nursing Bowen,” she added, biting her lip to keep from smiling as she turned her eyes up and looked into his. His mouth was parted, and she could see he realized he had been found out.

“You  _ do _ think about it, and you think about it all the time,” she whispered, feeling the muscles beneath her palms as they skated across the front of his shoulders and over the pectorals in front of her face.

“We can’t,” he said, his voice nothing more than a harsh whisper. He swallowed again, and more forcefully said, “It’s only been three weeks.”

“Twenty-two days, in fact,” Sansa corrected, smiling now. She watched the corner of his mouth tick up and knew he, too, had been keeping count.

“Then you know we can’t--”

Interrupting him again, Sansa lifted a finger to his lips, pressing the pad of her finger against the seam to get him to be quiet. His mustache tickled her skin and she felt a thrill run up her spine at the things she wanted him to do with that mouth.

“We can’t have sex, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t other… activities.”

She watched his eyes immediately go to Bowen, who slept in a bassinet beside the couch. When they came back to her it was with a new heat in them, darkened with desire and the knowledge that his lunch break wouldn’t last forever.

“ _ Please _ , Sandor--”

Sansa didn’t have a chance to say more, since he grasped her hand and headed towards the bedroom.

~≈~≈~

Almost three weeks later Sansa seemed to have a perpetual smile on her face, and no matter what they were doing it also seemed like she used every chance she got to touch him.

Sandor had to admit that life was pretty good. Pretty amazing. Perfect. Just fucking bloody perfect.

Even without sex, which was something he was sure no man ever uttered out loud. When Sansa had suggested they explore things they could do both in and out of the bedroom, she hadn’t been lying.

There were times Sandor thought to himself,  _ I’m too old for this _ ; times where Sansa would slide onto his lap during a movie and clearly invite him to touch her, though he was tired from a long day of work, and that movie really  _ had _ looked interesting.

But there were also times when his body betrayed its eagerness and he ended up scarfing down a hastily made sandwich on his way back to work because Bowen had been sleeping and he and Sansa had had no time for food during his short lunch break. Or other times when he would find himself waking up at odd hours of the night and reaching for her, his hands seeking, his mouth watering, excitement building in the darkness when her hands found him in welcome.

Everything was new, and nothing was boring. They learned together, surreptitiously came up with new ideas and shyly put them forth to the other. 

It was during one of their daytime makeout sessions when he accidentally attacked her breasts with zeal and got his first taste of breastmilk. It was just that her body excited him so much that he had forgotten there were parts of it he was now sharing with Bowen.

And it wasn’t unpleasant, he found unexpectedly. Sweet, and the fact that it came from her breasts turned him on so unexpectedly that the shock of it had very nearly shut down his lust then and there.

But just as the fondling and exploring was new to him, so too was having someone he felt open enough with to discuss something with, such as the unexpected eroticism behind breastmilk. Much to his surprise she wasn’t averse to the idea, and if from that point on he received a taste while loving thoroughly on her body, it was something private they shared between them, something they didn’t feel the need to discuss at length.

It never ceased to amaze him how gracious she was; how giving of a lover, how generous with her affection. Every day he loved her more and more, and every day his resolve grew that he needed to do something that would cement her place in his life, lest he lose her at some point in the future.

Six weeks after Bowen was born found them driving to the Stark residence to spend Sevenmas with Sansa’s family. Sandor put all planning on hold when he realized exactly how nervous he was about seeing her entire family again. There would be no room for rational thought as he tried to survive the weekend with the Stark clan.

Seeing them all again wasn’t exactly unpleasant, but this type of family gathering was something he had never experienced, including the brief period where they all had crowded into Sansa’s hospital room.

Although he didn’t want to admit it, the one thing he didn’t want to happen, in fact happened nearly the moment they walked through the door -- Sansa left him. Hauled off by Catelyn, she and Bowen disappeared into what he guessed was the kitchen, from which the sounds of women’s voices filtered out past the large flat screen television in the living room.

Ned had risen from his spot on the couch and was on his way to greet Sandor politely when a screech sounded from the room Sansa was now in.

“What?? He’s here? Sansa, why--”

“Arya,  _ no _ \--”

“--Didn’t you tell me he was coming?!”

“He’s family, you dork. Of course he was coming.”

“Yes, but…” The shorter sister rounded the corner and scanned the room until her eyes landed on him, still standing at the landing at the entrance to the living room, his hands in his pockets. “You! Sandor! Holy crap, you’re here--wait,” she started towards the large decorated tree in the corner of the room, narrowly dodging Gendry’s outstretched grab as he attempted to stop her progress. 

Rifling through some gifts, she pulled out a long, thin box, obviously struggling under the weight of it, and Sandor glanced from Gendry to Ned and then back to Arya as the other two men collectively rolled their eyes.

After all, it was obvious that everyone knew what was in the box, including Sandor.

Arya had gotten him a sword for Sevenmas.

Not sure how to process that, Sandor braced himself for the impact of Arya’s personality fully aimed at him when he was blessedly saved by Gendry, who swooped in behind her, wrapped a short, meaty arm around her waist and hauled her into the air. Ned commandeered the box from her amidst her protests and while Gendry took her to rooms unknown, Sandor remained where he stood while Ned returned to welcome him into their home.

Robb was cautiously polite, but his wife Jeyne welcomed him as though she were Catelyn Stark’s subordinate, or second in charge. While conversations continued in the kitchen Sandor was brought around to the main family rooms to be introduced once again to the family members who were scattered throughout the house.

Rickon, Bran, Jon, and Theon were all in a den off to the side, the three of them playing a video game on the TV in that room while Jon sat in the corner reading a book. When asked if he wanted to play he declined after thanking them awkwardly for the invitation, and was ushered out by Ned to where Robb and now, Gendry were sitting at the dining table, discussing business.

“How is fatherhood suiting you?” Robb looked up from the papers between them, sitting back in his chair to casually ask the question. But Sandor sensed the question for what it was -- a test. He answered carefully.

“It’s perfect. Better than I could ever have imagined.”

“You’re not exactly young,” Robb added, his smile shining with a hint of condescension. Sandor tried to remind himself that this was Sansa’s older brother, as he ground his teeth. “Why choose to be a father now?”

Sandor glanced at Ned who, though his look aimed at Robb was censorious, looked back at Sandor with curiosity at what the answer would be. Gendry, for his part, looked almost as curious, though his eyes held a glint of caution -- and Sandor thought it was because the younger man knew exactly what was going on between Robb and Sandor.

To Robb, Sandor simply replied, “I love Sansa, and as we got to know each other I also came to love Bown.” Turning an eye toward Ned before looking back at the oldest Stark boy, he added casually, “Sansa chose me, and Bowen is my son. There is nothing else to say.”

His tone brooked no argument on the matter, and a look was exchanged between father and son, and an approving nod and smile was directed at Sandor from Gendry. The moment was tense, as though the Starks were weighing his words, measuring the worth of him based on the answer to Robb’s question. 

Then simultaneously Ned clapped a hand on top of Sandor’s shoulder, and Robb stood, puffing out his chest slightly but offering his hand at the same time. Looking at him sideways, Sandor offered his own and they shook, and the veil of uncertainty was somewhat lifted when Robb smiled at him.

“Well, then. There’s nothing left to say.” With a firm grip he looked up into Sandor’s eyes straight, and gave a short nod. “Welcome to the family.”

“Boys,” said Jeyne, wandering in to the room and wrapping herself around Robbs side as the two men let go. “If you’re done preening your feathers we can finally eat. Clear the table--” Gendry began immediately, and Robb kissed the top of his wife’s head before joining in, “--and the kids will set it.”

It became apparent that by kids she meant the guys from the other room. Ned and Sandor stepped aside as the four younger men filed in, led by Bran in his wheelchair. Jon again paled as he passed Sandor, looking at his scars rather than into his eyes, as would be the polite thing to do.

Sandor didn’t know how many times he was going to have to supress the urge to roll his own eyes at the family’s varied reactions to him.

~≈~≈~

After what seemed like a dozen assurances to Jeyne and her mother that she was indeed happy, Sansa was released from their clutches when it was time to serve dinner. She found Sandor in quiet discussion with Ned, who was pointing out something or other in the entryway of the house while Sandor looked on. Slowly walking up behind them, she caught a snippet of their conversation.

“She wants to repaint the mud room but I told her it would be easier to just use the same color.” Ned ran a finger down the edge of the wall just beyond the doorway. “This round corner makes it difficult to switch colors, but she’s adamant about wanting gray instead of off white.”

“That’s an easy fix,” Sandor said, his voice noticeably lower than her father’s. Just hearing it made her heart skip a beat -- was there no end to the reminders that she was in love with Sandor? She hoped not.

“You run a piece of painter’s tape along the corner from top to bottom, and then a thin bead of caulking on the edge where you want the color change.” He went on to describe the correct caulking, where to get it and to get the best price, and how when the tape was peeled off after painting, Ned would have a smooth, clean line between the old color and the new.

“I appreciate the tip, Sandor, I really do.” Ned turned and saw Sansa standing there, a sleeping Bowen in her arms, and he smiled gently at her. “Now, Sandor,” he began, turning back, “There’s a gouge in one of the boys bedrooms upstairs. Would you be able to recommend a spackle and patch method? We can go take a look, it won’t take long--”

“Actually, dad, I was wondering if I could steal him away from you for a few minutes before dinner?”

Sansa smiled, watching her father smile again at her though more lovingly this time -- and a bit sheepishly. With a glance at Sandor, he nodded.

“How about after dinner?” Sandor supplied, not quite smiling but obviously willing to be helpful to his love’s family. 

Ned seemed pleased with the idea, and also satisfied that this new addition to the family was going to be a useful one. With a kiss to Sansa’s forehead he took himself off, probably somewhere to hide until dinner was ready so he wouldn’t be roped into serving.

“Thank you for offering to help him, Sandor. Painting is not his forte, obviously.” 

She stepped into his space and his arms came up, wrapping her and Bowen in his warmth as she pressed her cheek to his chest. She felt more than she heard the deep chuckle that vibrated his throat.

“Business is not mine, so we may make a good team.”

“Oh?” she questioned, looking up at him. Warm gray eyes looked down at her, the smile reflected in the creases at the corners.

“I mentioned one day wanting my own paint crew and got an earful of business advice.”

His hand trailed up her spine and back down again, tucking the tips of his fingers into the back of her jeans; just enough that it warmed her insides but not enough to cause alarm should anyone come upon them.

“You’re own business?”

With a smile, Sansa lifted one hand and rested her palm against his shirt, feeling the heat emanating off of him, and the strength that didn’t need to be shown off in order to know it was there.

“That’s quite intrepid of you,” she said softly, gently scratching through his shirt with her fingertips. 

Another rumble sounded from him but this time it was not one of humor. Tightening his arms, he answered her in a low voice.

“I decided if my girlfriend can do it, then why can’t I?”

“Mmm,” was her reply, as he bent to press his lips to hers.

The kiss was slow but firm, a simple swipe of tongue, a caress of lips, but there was promise from each of them in the contact. Sansa decided now was the best time to give him the good news.

“So,” she said quietly against his lips, feeling the way his mustache brushed the corner of her mouth as he pressed a soft kiss there. “My doctor’s appointment went well.”

“Mm hm,” he murmured, brushing his lips over her cheek and moving back along her cheekbone.

“My six weeks was officially done yesterday.”

Sandor froze, lips just reaching her ear. He remained there for several seconds before pulling back, keeping his face close to hers.

“And we have to be at your fucking family’s house,” he groused, the smiling lines gone from the corners of his eyes. It made Sansa chuckle as she reached up on her toes to press her lips to his cheek, just below his eye. It was a kiss of love, gentle and reminding, as he kept his face close to hers. 

It was this closeness that served her purposes when she whispered against his lowered cheek, “Yes, but we will be sharing my old bedroom this week.” 

His breathing was suddenly harsh in her ear, and the fingertips inside her waistband pressed deeply into the arched muscles of her back.

“Your parents approved this?”

Biting her lips, Sansa shrugged.

“When I spoke of sleeping arrangements I implied there was nowhere else I wanted to be but with the father of my son.”

His breath huffed out against her skin and she shivered, grasping the front of his shirt in her fist and waiting for his reply. When none came, she drew back enough to look him in the eye.

“There are four couples in this house this week, Sandor. We won’t be the only ones enjoying the privacy.” 

Once again lifting to her toes she kissed him more thoroughly, only backing off when she was convinced the promises in her touch were conveyed through the kiss, and he was breathing heavily, grasping her close with one hand but keeping her angled with the other. Bowen still slept between them, and he glanced down at the sleeping infant, as though the tiny boy was a referee keeping their lust in check. Sansa saw this, and smiled up at him.

“I can’t wait to get my hands on you.”


	40. Chapter 40

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who has stuck with this story. The end is near! 
> 
> My sporadic posting has been due to a crazy hectic personal life. Simultaneously, the shit hit the fan with one issue I am closely connected to, while in another - searching for a home for our family to purchase - things have been marvelous. We think we found one ~yay!~ The real estate business in Alaska is no joke :-/
> 
> I have one more chapter after this to post and then we're through, and I don't know when I will be able to post another story. But I will, I promise!

If anyone noticed the next day at breakfast that Sansa and Sandor were late, they didn’t say anything. The buffet-style spread Catelyn put on was a boon, since when they finally wandered down to join the family, Sandor was free to recoup his lost energy by piling his plate high with eggs, toast, bacon, and at Sansa’s prodding, a decently sized helping of mixed fruit. She in turn sat down at the table with a good portion of fruit heaped in the middle of her plate, with a slice of toast, several pieces of bacon, and a glass of orange juice filled to the brim.

“Thank the gods you’re nursing,” Arya piped up from across the table, where she sat with Gendry and their empty plates, still dressed in their pajamas. Her eyes bugged out when she took in Sandor’s plate, and before anyone could stop her she blurted out, “What’s your excuse, Sandor?”

If he had been anyone else he would have blushed at the things he and Sansa had done during the night in the stretches where Bowen slept soundly. 

But he was himself, and he was able to say to her with a perfectly straight face, “I’m big.”

Arya, not to be put aside so easily, sent a lecherous grin at Sansa and replied saucily, “I bet you are.”

A choking sound came from Ned, but Gendry was the one who turned beat red at his girlfriend’s tone. When she yelped and jumped it seemed everyone at the table knew he had just pinched her leg.

“Arya, manners please,” admonished Catelyn, who sat at one end of the large table opposite her husband, who sat on the other. But she noticeably avoided Sandor and Sansa’s eyes during the meal from that point on.

Conversation centered around the goings on in the various Stark lives, with Sandor, who had been seated next to Ned, carrying on a fairly steady conversation with Sansa’s father. He was glad of it, too, since he wasn’t sure he would be able to participate in Theon and Bran’s heated debate over which gaming system was superior, nor Jon’s feeble attempts at mentioning the book he was currently reading. Rickon might have provided conversation had they been seated near each other, though it likely would have revolved around Sandor’s scars. That was a story for another day.

Robb and Jeyne had seemingly adopted a subordinate role in the family, as though Catelyn and Ned were the head of the family and Robb and Jeyne were next in line to the throne. Though where Robb was a bit of a snob, Jeyne was the queen-to-be whom everyone would someday love.

And then there was Sansa. Quiet, sweet, charming Sansa. Sexy, passionate, insatiable Sansa. 

It had taken a while to build up the passion the night before, since they were both nervous. She for the sheer fact that a mere six weeks prior she had pushed a small human out of her body, and him because, well, six weeks prior she had pushed a small human out of her body. They were both concerned she wasn’t going to feel good, that there would be discomfort and their evening would be ruined with Sansa requiring a soothing touch and pain medicine. 

A grim thought, but a possible reality in their position.

Sandor was glad they were wrong.

What transpired between them the night before was nothing short of a life altering experience, and Sandor had a hard time not allowing his actions of today reflect that. Whether it be the way he attempted to keep a hand on her at all times -- be it her back or her shoulder or holding her hand -- or how he watched her incessantly, which he was fairly certain her family had noticed. More than once he had received a queer look from one member or another.

Probably made even queerer with Arya’s earlier comment about his  _ size _ .

He watched inconspicuously as her family observed them, not just that day but in following days as well. Due to the sudden and welcome intimate nature of their nights together, the attentiveness and touching only got worse as the days went by, and Sandor found himself both uncaring and unwilling to change it. 

If someone in her family caught a knowing smile exchanged between he and Sansa as they sat together on the couch while she nursed Bowen, then so be it. 

If someone else noticed how he slid his hand into the back pocket of her jeans -- at the same time she tucked her fingers into his waistband -- while the entire family had stepped outside after dinner to watch the Aurora Borealis, then so what?

And if Catelyn happened to enter their room with what could hardly be called her single, extremely quiet knock, and find them in an embrace that would have put them on the pages of a porn magazine, well… She should have knocked  _ louder _ .

That last occurrence did actually convince them to calm it down a bit, and to confine their sexual escapades to the bedtime hours, but overall Sandor’s opinion of her family had risen enough -- and his love for her had heated up enough -- that overall he found himself thinking,  _ who the fuck cares.  _

He didn't, and Sansa obviously didn't, if the  _ slips _ of her nursing cover from her hands when only he could see were any indication. 

Especially since they were normally accompanied by a secretive smile reserved especially for him when she was in an especially teasing, torturing mood.

The minx.

So when the last evening of their visit had come upon them, presents exchanged, sword unwrapped, and one indulgent battle-ready pose performed for Arya's giddy and wild imagination, he wasn't too concerned when Catelyn pulled Sansa aside for yet another talk.

~≈~≈~

Sansa followed her mom, trailing her hand behind her only as long as it took for her fingertips to skate down Sandor's wrist, past his outstretched palm, and across the pads of his very capable fingers. Even now, heading to the den with her mother, thoughts of Sandor in the bedroom teased and tormented her. Silently she hoped it would always be this way between them.

Leaving a sleeping Bowen in Sandor's arms, she entered the other room and sat on the couch along the far wall, opposite her mom. When the Stark matriarch directed a polite smile in her direction, Sansa groaned aloud. 

That was the smile Catelyn Stark gave someone she was about to interrogate

“Mom--" she started, but of course Catelyn knew that by then her entire family knew of  _ that _ smile.

“Now, hear me out, Sansa.” Raising her hand to stave off any further argument from her oldest daughter, she then primly folded both in her lap and raised a single eyebrow, a look Sansa knew she had inherited. “I'm just concerned and I wanted to check in with you to make sure you are indeed well and truly happy.”

Sansa nodded, smiling at the word  _ happy.  _ There had never been a time in her life when she had been happier, and she told her mom this.

“Plus,” she added, “I have someone now who has made it his life’s mission to ensure my happiness.” Thinking of Sandor in such terms made her smile broaden. “Mom, I never thought I would find someone like him. He's… everything I ever wanted,” she added after a beat, her eyes losing their focus over Catelyn’s shoulder. “He's  _ more.” _

Her mom sniffed, bringing her back. 

“He is definitely more, Sansa. The man is a beast--"

“Now, hold on, mom.” Hackles rising, Sansa got ready to defend her love’s honor when Catelyn in turn interrupted her.

“What I mean is, he is not the man I ever expected you to show up here with, sweetie. He's coarse and unrefined. He's so much older than you, and not at all the youthful man I envisioned you pairing yourself with.”

Sansa held back her comment about how sexy  _ coarse _ and  _ unrefined _ could be, and instead took a deep breath and began speaking when her mother made to continue.

“I didn't meet Sandor and intend to fall in love with him, mom, but it happened.” She shook her head, herself almost disbelieving of the turn the gods had put on her life path. “There is nothing about him,” she added, emphasizing the word  _ nothing _ , “that I do not love; that I am not attracted to. He is the polar opposite of who I pictured myself ending up with--" Catelyn nodded in agreement, “--but thank the gods I was dumb enough to not realize it.”

Her mom's eyes widened, but Sansa went on. This would not be an interrogation, she vowed, so much as a lesson for her mom in not butting in where she didn't belong. Lovingly, of course.

“Sandor is a good man, and he looked out for me from the very beginning. Almost to the day I moved in to that apartment he was there when I needed him, not because he was trying to see what he could get from me but simply because that's who he is in his heart. He protected me, watched over me, at times even provided for me when I needed it, though he was under no obligation to do so.” Catelyn sniffed again and glanced down at her fingernails for a brief moment. Sansa almost laughed, wondering what it would take to convince her mother that Sandor was her true love, her knight, her  _ prince _ , and that she would stop at nothing to ensure the safety of their small but growing, love-filled family.

“He doesn't fit in,” Catelyn replied, obviously reaching for anything that might convince Sansa to foster second thoughts about Sandor. But to this Sansa merely laughed.

“Did you always fit in with Dad's family? Him in yours? Look at Jeyne, mom. You didn't like her at first and now she's as close to you as though you bore her from your own womb.” grasping onto that thought, she abruptly switched tactics, saying, “That's how Sandor feels about Bowen, and if that doesn't make him fit right in with the Starks then I don't know what will. But I think Theon, Jon, Jeyne, and Gendry might have something to say about being adopted and welcomed into our family.” She thought of that ridiculous pose he struck and how unbeknownst to him at least two phone cameras had captured the moment for future good-humored blackmail and ribbing. She needed to get that photo from Rickon before she left. 

“And I have no doubt that in time Sandor will be one of us, just like the rest of them, even if it takes him slightly longer to get there.”

Catelyn shook her head at Sansa's impassioned speech, but released a small sigh signaling her acceptance that this is a discussion she would not exit as the victor. Sansa smiled gently, scooting closer to the woman who had borne her, nurtured her, an raised her to be the woman she was. With nothing but love in her heart, she took her mother's hand in hers.

“Please, mom. Give him a chance? For me? Because we're a package deal now -- me, Bowen and Sandor. Where I go, he goes.” That was her way of saying if Sandor was not made to feel welcome, she would also not feel welcome, and Sansa was certain her mother picked up on that.

After a moment to mull over her daughter's words, Catelyn finally spoke in a quiet, reserved voice.

“You say he has been this way since the beginning?”

Thinking back, Sansa had to smile.

“Well, actually, in the beginning he was a self-righteous, but caring, ass and we didn't get along one bit.” She rushed on, pushing past Catelyn’s brief moment of shock and outrage to say hurriedly, “But that's because he thought I wasn't eating enough, that I wasn't taking care of myself while pregnant, of Bowen. And honestly I did make a couple decisions that weren't smart.”

Smiling again, as it seemed she always did when she thought of Sandor, she went on, “But he showed his true colors soon enough, and when the attraction hit us, it hit hard.” Looking her mom square in the eye, she said earnestly, “And the love did, too. So you have nothing to worry about, mom. He loves me, he will take care of me, and he's mine now. I'm not giving him up.”

After a few more words exchanged between them and with Catelyn at least slightly mollified, they rose and embraced.

“I just want you to be happy, Sansa,” her mom said into her hair, squeezing her tightly. Sansa squeezed back, nodding and knowing with full clarity now that a mother's love was endless. Her heart warmed at the thought that she wanted the same thing for Bowen when he got older. 

“I know, mom,” she whispered, and after one last squeeze they parted and moved to rejoin the family.

Sansa felt that what they found was the perfect example of everything she had just said, and the two of them watched from the doorway -- Catelyn with resigned acceptance, and Sansa with undisguised love and affection.

The entire family was passing around Bowen, saying hello to the infant who was now wide awake and enjoying the attention. That is, after they filed back into the living room from collectively washing their hands.

“You too, Rickon,” Sandor said quietly to the teenager sitting beside him on the couch, and with an undignified roll of his eyes, the teenager did as he was bid and rose to wash his hands.

The first was Ned, who said hello to his grandson under Sandor’s watchful eye. Sansa thought it was almost comical how Sandor could hold a conversation with Gendry about business and painting while maintaining visibility of Bowen. Comical, but it warmed Sansa’s heart.

He watched as Robb and Jeyne were next, though as soon as Bowen landed in Jeyne’s arms he must have felt comfortable enough with the woman to finally look Gendry’s way for a few moments. However, when Jeyne handed the infant to Robb Sandor’s gaze returned, and didn’t leave him again for the duration of the visit.

Making the rounds of the room, Bowen was passed to a hesitant Jon, a completely confused Theon, and a smiling Bran. Her wheelchair bound brother seemed almost as happy to formally greet the baby as Jeyne was, cooing at him and letting Bowen hold his finger while Bran gently shook his little arm.

“My turn!” cried Arya, following it with, “Bran, give him up already. Quit hogging the baby!”

She reached for him as Bran did the signature Stark eye roll, shaking his head as he held Bowen aloft so Arya could reach for him.

At that point even Sansa stepped forward, much as Sandor had leaned forward to the edge of the couch, his worried hands clasped between his knees. But just as she saw Ned’s strong hand clamp down on Sandor’s shoulder, so too did Catelyn’s hand grasp Sansa by the elbow, both older adults seemingly bidding Sansa and Sandor to watch the moment unfold.

Before their eyes Arya went through a transformation – going from obstinate young woman to melted puddle of baby talk and the gentlest arms on her that the entire family had ever seen. Sansa and Sandor even exchanged a surprised glance as the elder Stark’s hands fell away, though by then all eyes returned to Arya and Bowen as what seemed like a miracle transpired between she and the infant.

Bowen seemed to reach up towards her, and just as he did, she lowered her face so he could gently scratch at it with his tiny fingers. 

And when she spoke to him, Bowen spoke back, and Sansa’s heart melted.

So too did Gendry’s, apparently, who sat beside Sandor on the couch with his jaw in his lap. The young man’s mouth was hanging open so wide that had they been outside, Sansa would have worried flies would make a home inside it. 

It appeared that Gendry’s idea of what a relationship would be like with Arya was changing before his very eyes, and he was having trouble processing it.

Rickon, in an ever present display of irritating teenage attitude, broke the spell and rose from the couch, crossing to where Arya stood.

“Give him up already, sis,” he said snidely, mimicking her words from moments ago when she took Bowen from Bran. 

“Wait your turn,” she said, twisting her body so Bowen was facing away from him. It was when Rickon made a grab for Bowen that all forces of nature wouldn’t have been able to hold Sandor to the couch and he stood, just as Catelyn spoke in an authoritative voice from beside Sansa.

“Enough, children -- do not fight over the baby. Arya, give him to Rickon.  _ Now _ ,” she added for good measure, and a sullen Arya did exactly that.

When at last Rickon passed Bowen to Catelyn she held him for a moment, stroking his cheek, smiling at him, watching the beginnings of a smile form on his chubby face. Sandor joined them after a moment, standing beside Sansa as he slid an arm around her waist, drawing her into his side as they watched grandmother and grandson have a moment together.

When Catelyn at last looked up it was to direct her gaze at both Sandor and Sansa in turn, watery eyes accompanying her smile.

“Congratulations, you two,” she all but whispered. Beside her, Sansa heard Sandor swallow thickly, and she gave his back a small rub even as he squeezed her shoulder. Catelyn looked back down at Bowen, drawing a finger down his temple as he closed his eyes and fell asleep. 

“He’s beautiful.”


	41. Chapter 41

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who has stuck with me through this journey! I wish I had ended on a good note and not my sporadic posting, but what do I always say? - Life gets in the way. I have been hit by several curve balls over the last couple of weeks and am glad you guys are still here.
> 
> I promise I'm not going to stop writing, and yes, I do have more stories to post! Mostly short one shots, but this isn't the last you'll see of me.
> 
> So, until next time! *waves*
> 
> <3

Everything was ready. Dinner was on the table, Bowen was asleep in the playpen beside the couch, and the lights were all dimmed with classical music playing on the bluetooth speaker. The massive bouquet of mixed flowers Loras had brought over was sitting on the end of the kitchen island, stinking up the place in a way only Sansa would appreciate. 

And the ring -- the small diamond solitaire in his pocket was pressing into his thigh, reminding him with every step he took, with every movement he made, that he was going to ask Sansa the most important question he had ever asked anyone tonight.

He wondered if she realized tonight was the one year anniversary of when she had moved into the apartment.

But it really didn’t matter. He remembered. He remembered the day his entire life had changed. He remembered that ass in those jeans. He remembered the hair of a siren, the smile of a goddess -- the same woman he woke up to every morning with that smile aimed at him.

And he wanted to wake up to that smile every single day for the rest of his life.

It had originally been his idea, but after taking Renly aside at the apartment building barbeque two weeks ago and mentioning that he didn’t know where to start, it had sort of snowballed once Loras got ahold of the information. Thus an engagement was born, not to mention wedding planning, ring shopping, and Loras gleefully saying he would provide all the flowers for both for free.

Sandor wasn’t sure what he would have done without the help of the two men. These types of situations were obviously out of his league.

That Saturday had been the perfect day to pull aside Renly, and eventually Loras, because Jaime Lannister had shown up with two unexpected guests -- the new tenants who would be moving in to Petyr Baelish’s old apartment. Upon seeing Arya and Gendry’s faces appear behind Lannister’s through the apartment building door, Sansa hadn’t quite known how to react. 

It was understandable, as she told him later that night, that she was nervous over having family living in the same building. But the opportunity to have their son grow up so close to his aunt and soon-to-be uncle was something both she and Sandor had to admit was probably a good thing. Arya even immediately became friendly with Gilly, much to Sam’s delight, though the other ladies remained aloof, with Brienne as wrapped up in Tormund’s clinginess as ever. Greetings between Margaery and Arya were polite at best, though Daenerys was slightly more welcoming.

A tenant for Sandor’s vacated apartment hadn’t been found yet, but Lannister assured everyone that the vetting process for finding one had been revamped and would include criminal background checks and the assurance that there would be no more Baelishes in the building. 

Checking his watch for the tenth time in the last ten minutes, Sandor knew to expect Sansa home any minute. So he checked on Bowen one more time and sat on the couch, ready to help Sansa with the groceries as soon as he heard her key in the lock.

Just moments later the time came, and when Sansa opened the door it was to find Sandor reaching for grocery bags and greeting her with a warm kiss.

As soon as he stepped out of the way to let her enter, she gasped at the sight that greeted her. Sandor figured that was a good reaction.

~≈~≈~

The lights, the dinner, the flowers. Sansa didn’t know what to think, other than that Sandor knew exactly what day it was, as well. Her obstetrician had said they needed to wait six weeks for Sansa’ body to fully heal before they had sex again. Today was exactly day one of the seventh week since Bowen was born.

All week she had looked forward to this night for that reason, as well as the surprise she had planned for Sandor. Just prior to heading home, she had stopped at the Vital Statistics office to pick up the paperwork she had put into motion several weeks prior. 

Tonight was a big night, and when she arrived home she found that Sandor had managed to make it extra special by treating her to dinner and flowers.

“What--how--”

“I do know how to cook some things,” Sandor supplied, a shy smile on his face as he turned to bring the groceries to the kitchen. 

“Meatloaf,” she observed with a gentle laugh, and she clasped her hands in front of her chest. “Oh my goodness, Sandor, it’s just… It’s so beautiful,” she said, slightly overcome with emotion clogging her throat.

Yes, she had made the right choice. Sandor was her choice, and he returned to her just in time to catch the tear that fell from her eye.

“Hey,” he said softly, gathering her into his arms. “If I had known this would make you cry I wouldn’t have done it.” Sansa’s startled laugh was muffled against his chest, her arms coming up to tightly wrap around his middle as he went on. “I would have bought fast food and put in a cheap movie.”

Another laugh, and Sansa turned her head to say, “I would have been just as happy, you silly man.”

His rumbling chuckle as he set her apart from him said he didn’t believe her, but it was true. Any surprise from Sandor was more than anyone else had ever done for her, and thus, by far, more joyful than any moment she had ever shared with another person.

“Yes, well,” he began, his discomfort at being complimented just another reason why she loved him.

They set the groceries aside, only putting away the ones that needed to be refrigerated, and sat for dinner. The entire time, Sansa was partially focused on the bag she had left by the door, and the folder of paperwork hidden inside.

This was a big step, but she knew in her heart it was the right one. There was no other way for her to show Sandor exactly what he had come to mean to her, and to her little family. He  _ was _ family, but this would prove it -- it would solidify his place in her life.

When the last drop of sparkling water was gone, and he had tipped back the last of his beer, she finally rose, saying, “I have something for you.”

Curiosity colored his face, but there was another emotion she couldn’t place, and as the music switched to a new song on the speaker she walked to the door and hunched over to slide the folder out of her bag.

It was only when she turned that she realized Sandor -- tall, solid mass of man that he was -- had silently followed her in his stockinged feet and was now standing directly behind her.

“Oh!” she exclaimed, putting a hand to her chest at being startled. “Sandor, I--”

“Sansa, I’ve been waiting all day for this and I need you to be quiet.”

The look on his face -- seriousness, and nerves -- was enough to shut her up, even if his abrupt words hadn’t been. His chest expanded as he inhaled deeply, and his hands worried together in front of his stomach.

Nodding, she dropped the folder to her side, suddenly unsure of what was happening; of whether now was indeed a good time to show him what she had done.

Another deep breath drew her eye to his chest -- broad and sexy even when covered with his worn t-shirt. She swallowed, bringing her focus back to his face.

Sandor scratched at his jaw once and then dropped his hand, before bringing his other one up to cup his chin and pull at his beard. He was nervous, which was apparent, but his silence was making Sansa nervous as well. Reaching out her empty hand, she rested her fingertips against his chest and looked into his eyes.

“Speak, Sandor. What is it?”

Pressing his lips together, he took her hand and held it between both of his, and then dropped down to one knee.

Sansa gasped.

“I love you,” he began, but already her eyes were blurring with tears at this unexpected development. “I love you,” he said again, “and I love Bowen, and I want us to be a family in every way possible.”

He let go of her hand to adjust his shirt and dig a small velvet box from his pocket. She hadn’t even noticed the awkward bulge, and quickly wiped the tears from her eyes as he opened it, revealing the small, round diamond set in yellow gold.

“Today is a special day.” Sansa nodded, and his brow rose, the scar tissue over his right eye wrinkling at the gesture. “You know? Of course you would,” he added with a small smile. “Yes, well, I wanted to make this special.”

Slowly he took the ring out of the box, his eyes never leaving hers, before closing the box and dropping it back in his pocket. Then he reached for her hand, forcing her to transfer the file to her right as she held out her left for him to slide the ring onto her ring finger. Gently he did so, bringing it to his mouth and kissing the back of her hand with a whiskered kiss that made her heart stutter.

“Sansa, will you marry me? I never expected to meet someone, to want to get married, but I see no other way for me to be happy in this life other than for you to consent to be mine, as I want to be yours.” He swallowed, his throat moving beneath the beard as he cupped her hand again in both of his. 

“I’ll protect you, honor you, and love you from this day til the end of my days. Please, Sansa, say yes--”

As shocked as she was, she had enough presence of mind to keep quiet when what she truly wanted to do was squeal in excitement and knock him to the floor. So instead she blinked, allowing two more tears to trail down her cheeks as she smiled, nodded, and bent to press her mouth to his.

“Yes,” she began, her lips moving over his. “Yes, yes, yes!” Arms wrapping around his neck, he drew her down so she was sitting on his one raised knee, feeling her heart thudding inside her chest as she slid her fingers into his hair and held him to her.

She didn’t know how long she sat there, though it couldn’t have been long before he drew back and coughed a short laugh.

“My leg,” he whispered hoarsely, and even though Sansa rose and he did as well, she was loathe to let go of him.

Laughing quietly together, they stood there wrapped in each other’s arms, content in their love and their commitment to each other, when suddenly Sansa remembered what was in her hand.

“Oh!” she exclaimed, stepping back from him; almost laughing at her forgetfulness. “You distracted me!” she tossed the kind hearted accusation at him as she handed him the folder, adding, “I said I had something for you.” When he took it from her and opened it she stood at his side, turning on the light by the front door so he could see what he was reading. 

“Of course I remembered what today was, Sandor.” As he read, she held onto his shirt at his back when he looked up at her after reading the top of the first paper.

“Adoption Decree,” he said slowly, his mouth slack. Going back to reading, she watched as he scanned the paper document that, when signed by both he and Sansa and approved by a judge, would declare Bowen to now be Bowen Clegane, rather than Bowen Stark as he was now. It hadn’t mattered to Sansa that he wouldn’t have her last name, because what did matter to her was that he had a father and Sandor had a son, forever and ever.

“Sansa, this…” His voice trailed off, or was possibly cut off by his emotion, she couldn’t quite tell which one. 

“There’s no one else,” she said softly, taking the folder from him and placing it on the back of the couch. “No one else who deserves to be Bowen’s father more than you do. There’s no one else I would  _ want _ to be Bowen’s father, more than you, Sandor.” She reached up, cupping his bearded cheek in her hand as her own eyes blurred and she caught the shimmer of tears in his. 

“You will be Bowen’s father.” She smiled, adding a second hand to the other side of his face.

“And you will be my wife,” he murmured, his voice a deep rasp clogged with emotion and hope and love for her.

Sansa nodded, replying, “And you, my husband,” as he bent to capture her mouth in a kiss of promise. Sliding his arms around her, Sansa arched her back as he drew her into him, thinking in wonder at how this beast of a man had turned into one of the two most important people in her life -- the man she loved, the man she cherished, the man with whom she would join hands and raise their son and maybe future children.

It was a dream, a vision she once had long ago before it had been torn from her hands, until she was thrust into the path of this fine man. Thinking back to the journey of the past year, and seeing it bring her from pregnant and alone, relying for a while on the charity of others, to neighbors with a grumpy painter, to the unexpected attraction that simmered and then boiled between them, to  _ this _ \-- this love, this forever, this new life… Sansa’s mind was blown daily that she was so truly blessed.

“Thank you,” she whispered against Sandor’s lips, as a saltiness invaded and she realized it was his tears.

“For?” he rasped, pressing his mouth to her cheek and sliding one hand down to cup her bottom in his massive palm. Laughing, Sansa leaned to press a kiss to his neck, feeling the coarse hairs tickle her skin. 

“For being you. For loving me. For loving Bowen.” She kissed lower, finding the hollow of his throat as he tilted his chin out of her way. “For everything,” she added, darting her tongue out to taste his skin.

Sandor groaned, but from that point on was incapable of speech as they quietly, clumsily tumbled back to their bedroom.

~≈~≈~

It was a gray dress with white fur trim. It was a tiny infant onesie, printed like a tuxedo. It was family and friends, neighbors and coworkers, sitting on chairs in the backyard, lined with flowers from the Tyrell gardens.

It was that look in Sansa’s eyes as she said her vows, as she held his hands, as that impish smile lifted one corner of her lips when she vowed to love and obey and honor him.

And it was the thrill in his heart when he did the same, looking down at her cascading red hair as she drew it over her shoulder so he could remove the maiden’s cloak and replace it with his own. A wedding of fairytale proportions, Renly had promised them, and he hadn’t disappointed. Sandor was certain he had never seen a more perfect wedding, nor a more perfect bride, in all his days.

He remembered the conversation well, down to the gleeful look in Loras’s eyes as he eyed Sandor at the suit fitting; the, _ “Oh! Oh! A bedding!” _ as the younger man’s egregious gaze travelled down Sandor’s front to his feet and back up again, stopping briefly at only the most private parts of him.

Other than an eye roll, he hadn’t reacted until Renly mentioned Sansa’s name. It was then that he had been poked by a needle in his waist by the tailor as he bellowed, “There will be no bedding!”

Just thinking of Sansa stripped nearly naked in front of their friends and family made him see red, though Renly only chuckled, clucking his tongue as though it would have been a great shame for the couple to not see Sansa undressed.

“Shame,” Loras muttered, giving Sandor another once over before Renly ushered him out of the fitting room.

But the kiss -- how Sansa, in front of her family, in front of their friends and everyone who had come to mean so much to them over the last year and a half looked on, dragged his face down to hers and gave him the most salacious, passionate kiss he had ever experienced in public, much to the delight of nearly every other attendee at their small ceremony, minus her parents of course. He was certain if he had been able to drag his face away from her embrace, he would have seen Ned and Catelyn averting their gaze for the duration of the steamy kiss.

It was perfect. All of it. The wedding, the dress, the fact that he had just been married by Davos to the most beautiful, most loving woman he had ever met --  _ him _ ; a Clegane, spawned with a brother of the worst kind but whom had overcome adversity to find himself welcomed into the Stark clan as though he had belonged there all along.

And his son… Bowen sat quietly even now, always such a good baby, in Arya’s arms as she--

Were those tears?

Sandor saw them at the same time Gendry did beside her, and with a nudge to Sansa he directed her gaze to that of her sister and, and the sight of Gendry attempting to dab them away with a handkerchief. 

Arya pulled away, cheeks red with embarrassment as she shot Sandor a scathing look.

“Shut up, Clegane,” she said, unsuccessfully attempting to sound menacing as her voice broke in the middle of his name. “Haven’t you ever seen emotions before?”

“Not from you, kid,” he said with a nod, though he knew the expression on his face was as close to affectionate as she was going to get. “Not from you,” he said again, as she looked down at Bowen in her arms and sniffed.

Family. It was the damnedest thing. He loved them all, though obviously not as much as he loved Sansa and Bowen. And perhaps after their short honeymoon they would tell the family about baby number two, growing even now in Sansa’s still flat stomach. 

But not yet.

He was going to keep this to himself for a couple weeks, and Sansa was more than willing to let him. Their little secret -- that their family was going to grow in eight months, as he knew his love for her would do the same.

His wife. His son, and whoever happened to be in her belly at that moment, boy or girl. He hoped it was a girl. 

This little family neither of them had expected but that neither of them would give up: it was the damnedest thing.


End file.
